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moral-turpitudes · 3 years

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A Secret Life:

**Gif credits go to the amazing @nofckingfighting your gifs give me life ok. They’re *chef’s kiss.**

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: None really, just some Fluff and some Swearing I think.

Word Count: 3,324

Characters: Johnny Dogs x Female!Reader

Requested by: @atjafshelby, you can find it here. This was the first time I’ve written anything mainly for him so I hope this is good lol. I love getting the opportunity to write other characters. :)

Summary: After a spat about potatoes and a sudden departure from Thomas’ dinner meeting, Johnny Dogs rushes home to be with his wife Y/N and their family, knowing he’d have to tell the blinders about his secret life with them eventually.

The weather was gloomy as the peaky men prepared for one of Tommy’s meetings in the middle of Charlie’s yard. The cans full of logs and kindling burning brightly through the smog of Small Heath as the smoke filled the air. The smell of smoked meat and other foods slowly making their way onto the makeshift table.

In the distance though, was a loud voice mumbling on hurriedly as he stomped along the dirt and soot covered road leading to the feast.

“Right, put the steel rods up the gooses arse there. Go on.” Johnny Dogs said to one of the younger lads who were understandably confused. His eyes watching as they did so, itching to do it himself since no one ever prepared goose the right way. This wasn’t his only criticism though, as he made his way to the table he noticed the lack of starch amongst the men.

“This isn’t a proper dinner. If you’re going to have the Gold’s here ya gotta have potatoes!” Johnny Dogs said loudly as the Shelby’s tired uncle followed the Irish traveler around the yard.

Charlie looked at the man dumbfounded, thinking it was as great a feast as any.

“I want him to see that we live proper, that we eat proper, in the proper way!” He exclaimed.

“No...no you know what?” He added, pointing at Charlie with an anger-filled expression.

“What?” Charlie asked, lighting a cigarette as his infamous nephews came strolling in.

“I’ll get the potatoes me-self!” He exclaimed, clearly frustrated as he stomped through the yard to the old market nearby. His mind buzzing with the thought of his wife and children back at camp. He loved being here with the men he considered allies, but his heart was there with Y/N, always, especially now that she’d been alone with their newest edition to the family.

“What’s he on about aye? It’s just a dinner to discuss the vendetta. Is he scared of the Gold’s?” Tommy said, a cigarette lingering on his lips.

“No he just thinks they’re bloody heathens.” Charlie said as Tommy smirked, walking back to meet Aberama Gold and his son Bonnie.

As Johnny got back, he hastily threw the potato’s in one of the boiling pots near the men. The steam rolling off them as he mashed them up and brought them to the table.

“Bit late there Johnny.” Arthur said, grabbing a huge spoonful of them.

“Not me fault someone can’t prepare a proper meal.” He said, his eyes darting to his pocket watch as Aberama agreed, thanking him for making them as they continued their tense conversation.

“Is there something wrong?” Tommy asked Johnny, causing him to swallow hard as he tried to not tell them about you. It ached him not to, but quite frankly he was nervous to do so. Knowing they’d have something to say when they learned of his relationship status and such.

“Almost forgot, I had some things to take care of at camp. I’ll be back in the mornin’ boys. Don’t get blood all over the fucking food alright?” He said, Tommy waving him off with a suspicious look on his face. He never had men leave abruptly, but if anything he thought maybe he had a whore waiting for him or another feud to handle.

But little did the blinders know what actually awaited him.

“Aye! Dads going to be home soon-no-don’t you dare hit your brother!” Y/N said aloud to her two rambunctious children Alice and Samuel, who were running around the field with the other little ones of the group that were set up nearby. Your youngest, Sarah, nestled on your hip and baby-babbling to herself.

“You’re gonna be full of words just like your father aren’t ya love?” You said to her quietly, going over to your son and daughter who were rough-housing as usual.

“Playtime’s over loves, we have to get ready for dinner.” You said, the children immediately stopping and saying goodbye to the other kids as you waved goodbye to their parents.

As you led your children back to the vardo, you quickly put your daughter down in her small crib near the cramped bed in the wooden structure.

Your tired reflection caught you off guard as you looked in the mirror. Your eyes not as bright and hair not as perfectly placed as before you’d had three children.

You were always grateful to be blessed with good looks that were surely from your mother, but you soon garnered unwanted attention as you’d grown up, the men throwing themselves at you left and right, until you’d seen Johnny one day at a camp in Ireland of course. He was bantering with his friends, fist fighting and such near one of your family’s stops, his smile catching your eye as he laid his own upon you. The poor man got punched because of you after all, making him go off his game with your beauty. But to this day he said he didn’t regret it, telling you in that moment his world stopped. That he’d felt like the luckiest man in the world to have someone as sweet and as beautiful as you by his side all these years.

And so now here you were, waiting for your traveler and infamously rowdy blinder husband to come home. The sun setting in a plethora of colors over the field as the other travelers sat around their respective bonfires.

“When’s dad coming? He’s usually back.” Your son asked, his eyes the color of yours but the shape of Johnny’s, and your daughters small smile like his as well.

“Yeah mum where’s he off to? I wanted him to tell us a bedtime story.” She said, pouting slightly as she watched you preparing dinner.

“Give him time angels. He’s a busy man.” You said, wondering where he was, knowing he’d most likely gotten held up by the fucking Shelby’s once again.

He’s never told them about you and it stung a bit, but you realized early on that he only did it to keep you and the family safe, knowing that nothing good ever came from uttering the Shelby name.

As you portioned the food out for the children, your youngest cried for her food as well as you sighed and went in to nurse her. Humming a soft song to her as she gradually fell asleep in your arms.

As the kids emptied their bowls, stomachs full and content smiles on their faces, you ushered them to their beds, your heart racing slightly as you thought about where your husband could be.

“Don’t worry loves, dad will be home soon alright? I’m going to be just outside.” You said, fixing yourself your portion of the food as you stoked the fire a bit more, the embers disappearing into the night air as you wrapped the warm knit blanket around you.

You’d gotten accustomed to spending the majority of your nights alone with the children, eating amongst the stars and telling stories, but one thing always remained constant, and that was the need for their dad to be home. He made everyone light up when he’d come around. His laugh bringing a smile to your face instantly as he entertained the kids on his off days while you rested with the baby. But now like many nights, they missed him. They missed how he’d make you all feel safe, knowing he had you all out in the open like this. But he knew the company he kept, and he trusted them with his life that they’d take care of you all if need be.

Alas, as you sat there lost in thought, you heard the cries of your daughter once again as you went into the vardo, gently cradling her to you as you carried her outside into the cool night air, the sound of the crackling fire and water rushing nearby helping her fall asleep once again as you bounced her around lightly.

“It’s okay sweetheart. He’ll be home soon.” You reassured her. Knowing he’d never ever leave you sleeping alone, unless it was something serious.

---

“Johnny, before you go, we’ll be stopping by tomorrow. We need to make sure you all are ready.” Thomas said as Johnny walked away from the table.

“Alright, I’ll see ya there then lads. Goodnight.” He said, tipping his hat and walking off towards the horse he’d ridden in on. Quickly riding towards one of the flower fields nearby to pick some for you. He knew they wouldn’t make up for him being late, but he knew they’d at least bring a smile to the face he loved so much.

---

You sat wide-awake with your sleeping daughter against your chest, your nightgown covered by the thick blanket you’d draped over you and the baby. Her soft coos and little snores bringing a smile to your face as you kissed the top of her head. Your stomach still hurting with some efforts as you shifted in your seat. She’d only been about 4 months old, so both you and her were adjusting to the whole life thing with each other.

As you sat there naming the constellations to yourself as you gazed at the stars, you heard the familiar horse hooves pounding on the ground near the vardo. Johnny’s giddy whistle making your daughter rustle around in your arms as she knew he was home.

“Shhh, she’s sleeping.” You said quietly as he walked over ever-so carefully to kiss you, his lips soft against yours as he lingered on them for a moment, taking you in.

“I wanted to get here earlier, with the baby and everything but uh...Tommy got in the way again.” He said, grabbing the flowers he’d picked earlier.

“Are these for me?” You asked, grasping them with your free hand.

“Mhmm. Picked them me-self. Thought you’d like some after a hard days work caring for the kids. And uh, since I’ve been gone so long ya know?” He said, nervously rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“I love you Johnny Dogs. You romantic devil.” You said with a smirk as you kissed him once more.

“Now tell me love, what’s got you on your toes?” You asked, knowing his body language more than your own at this point.

“They’re coming here, to make sure everything’s ready for the big mission.” He said.

“Christ....do we need to stay in? It’ll be hard with this one crying.” You said, looking down at the sleeping bundle in your arms.

“No...I...I want you to meet them. They’re coming tomorrow mornin’.” He said.

“I see....well I’ll make sure to get up and make sure the kids meet them too. Couldn’t hurt right?” She asked.

“It could soften the blow I suppose.” He said, grabbing the last of the food that was still warm over the fire.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked.

“They’ll take one look at you and drool. You don’t think I see it every time we go outside the camp? You’re bloody gorgeous and you’ve gone and married a fool like me?” He said half-jokingly. His self-deprecating humor hurting your heart.

“They can say what they want, but you’ll always be the man for me Johnny. I wouldn’t have you any other way. You were the first man I’ve ever loved.” You said, remembering how despite your looks, you’d never had the luck of relationships on your side, thinking all hope was lost until that day so long ago. And god were you grateful for him, even if he did talk your ear off on more than one occasion, you still loved the man to death.

“Now go tell your children a bedtime story, please love?” You asked, looking at him with puppy dog eyes that made his heart swoon. He could never say no to you.

---

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of the kids playing out by the river, the wind rustling around the vardo as you heard Johnny helping out with the baby outside.

“I’m sorry love, I was going to get up and help ya but I guess I overslept.” You said, wrapping your robe around yourself that complimented your eyes and physique exquisitely.

“You needed the beauty sleep love. Besides, you’ve done enough for me these past weeks, thought I’d do something for ya.” He said, cradling the baby in his arms as you sat near him next to the barely lit fire, the coals still hot from the night before.

Johnny took your hand in his lightly, the ring on your finger sparkling in the sunlight as you both watched your kids playing together near the river.

In the distance though, you could hear the sound of a car pulling up, your nerves getting to you as you knew it was Thomas Shelby and his brothers.

“Here we go.” You mumbled, calling your children over as the men got out of the car, the kids nearly running into them as their little legs carried them swiftly over the grass. They quietly stood behind you as Johnny handed you your baby girl, her bright eyes looking up at you as the sun hit your face flatteringly.

“Hello boys! G’morning to ya! How’s about we get this meeting done shall we?” He asked, putting his cap on.

“Who’s the lovely lady over there aye?” John asked, eyeing her with hungry eyes.

“That’s me wife. Her names Y/N.” He said, looking John in the eyes as he crossed his arms.

“Oh and who are the children with her? They can’t be yours can they? Wow Johnny boy! Didn’t know you had it in ya. How’d you snag a gem of a girl like that aye? Use any of yer charms?” Arthur said jokingly.

“They’re mine yes, and don’t worry, I did nothing of the sort. She came to me actually.” He said with a proud smug smile on his face, knowing he married one of the prettiest women near Small Heath and the bastards couldn’t do anything about it.

“Well if you have anymore questions how’s about you lot meet them then?” Johnny asked over the awkward silence, Thomas still eyeing him a bit suspiciously.

“You boys go meet them, me and Johnny have something to discuss.” Tommy said shortly.

“Oh...al-alright. Here ya go lads.” He said, leading them over to Y/N and her children, who backed behind their beautiful mother shyly.

“Hello gentlemen, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet ya.” You said, smiling brightly as their stares lingered over you. It was something you were used to, but still made you slightly uncomfortable, so you remained focused on your kids.

“You can have a seat if you’d like, we don’t mind do we loves?” You asked, patting your son on the head as he smiled.

“No it’s ok momma. I’m gonna go play.” Your daughter said, running off towards the other little kids nearby. Your son sat by you though, eyeing the men curiously.

“So these are Johnny’s kids aye? What’s your name little man?” Arthur asked, putting on his nicest smile.

“Samuel. Who are you? Why do ya have big hats on like me dad?” He asked.

The men both looked at each other and smiled.

“We’re in a...group that your fathers in. It’s for people that are nice and strong.” He said.

“Oh...” Samuel said, fiddling with his fingers as he leaned his head against your arm.

“How’d you and Johnny meet aye? Old bugger like him sure snagged a beauty for a wife.” John said.

“Oh uhm...we met by chance really. I saw him scrapping with some people by the roadside when my family were going through and I stopped to watch. He says he got caught off guard by me. He got hit right after eyeing me up.” You said with a small laugh. John and Arthur chuckled as they looked over at Johnny and Tom having a rather tense conversation.

“While our brother’s interrogating the poor man, who’s this little one and her big sister?” Arthur asked.

“This is Sarah. She’s 4 months, almost 5. Talkative little bugger just like her dad. Always babbling about somethin’ aye? And that’s Alice. She hates sitting down, always wanting to be on the go. Guess it’s in the blood.” You said, also feeling antsy as you sat there with half of your little family.

“That it is.” Arthur said, looking around the camp as Johnny’s voice rose in the distance.

“When were you going to tell me Johnny?” Thomas asked, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

“About what mate? Bout me cookin’ and leaving yesterday or bout me family?” He asked.

“About your family, Johnny. You’re like family to us you know. How could you not tell us?” He asked loudly.

“You should know! The bloody line of work we’re in! God knows I’m not bringing them into that ‘ere.” He said a bit louder than Thomas expected, causing the others to look over.

“But why hide something like this Johnny? Not because of the way of our work but why hide it until now aye?” He asked.

Johnny thought for a moment, leaning against the tree near the river.

“Because Tom. I knew you’d all take one look at her and wonder why she’s wit’ a man like me. Ya know I’m not the nicest looking man ‘ere. Somehow how Tom...somehow she loves me and I wanted ya to see why I had to leave yesterday. It’s not just me I’m thinkin’ bout anymore.” He said.

“That why you’ve been yelling at work? Being short with everyone?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah Tom, yeah. Just...please don’t drag them into this.” He said, looking over at his wife who was managing pretty well despite John practically drooling.

“Well now that that’s cleared up how about you introduce me to them aye?” Thomas said, patting him on the shoulder and walking past him.

“I fucking guess. C’mon.” He said walking quickly ahead of his friend as Y/N smiled upon their arrival. His heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

“Y/N, love, I want ya to meet-“ He said before you cut him off. Eyeing the man who’d put your family in risky circumstances long ago.

“Thomas Shelby. Yeah...I know. Nice to see you in person.” You said, shaking his hand roughly and with a more colder glance than you’d had given his other brothers. You knew Thomas orchestrated everything within the blinders, so he was often the one blamed when things went south, and you had no problem casting the blame on him when Johnny would come home half conscious and bleeding, or limping with a bullet wound or two.

“Pleasure’s all mine Y/N. How’s the family?” He asked, sitting beside Johnny around the bonfire that was slowly burning out.

“Good now that their father is back. This little one is Sarah, the wild one over there is Alice, and our boy here is Samuel.” You said, pointing with your free hand to your small crew of children.

“Aye, so he tells me you met by chance. How in the hell did this man meet a woman like you?” He asked.

You looked down slightly at your daughter who was surprisingly sleeping soundly, her small mass of hair on her head coming in as dark as her fathers.

“I told your brothers already but, uh we met when I was traveling with me family. Saw him scrapping with some other men from nearby, I guess ya locked eyes long enough with me that they knocked you out aye love?” You said lightly punching Johnny’s shoulder.

“Aye they did. Couldn’t stop bloody lookin’ at ya. I mean seriously boys. Isn’t she a beauty? I’m a lucky man. A lucky lucky man.” He said, lighting a cigar as you smiled and put your free hand on his. It was rough from years of work, but as warm as the hugs he gave. He was home to you, no matter where you all went, he was the one constant thing you longed for, knowing in your heart he was yours forever.

Johnny Dogs Tag List:

@flysafepapi, @gaytommyshelby, @ta-ka-shi-ma

If you’d like to be added/removed, just send me an ask/message. :)

#atjafshelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #johnny dogs #johnny dogs x reader #johnny dogs x female!reader #johnny dogs x y/n #johnny dogs imagines #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby

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exploradora-writes · 3 years

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Fireside Love: An Arthur x Charlotte Fic (18+ Only)

Warnings: NSFW, wholesome smut

Summary: During a snowstorm, Arthur and Charlotte decide to use their time cooped up in their cabin wisely.

Word Count: 3,455

Notes: Thank you @the-halo-of-my-memory and @unpocowboys for helping me out with this fic. The both of you are very talented writers! I plan on writing more Charlotte and Arthur fics in the future. These two are one of my favorite comfort couples, so I wanted to make a spicy yet cozy fic about them. Warning: Tons of wholesome smut ahead...

This fic can also be found on my AO3 under exploradora_writes

The first frost flakes began to stick to the window, the kitchen gradually becoming colder as snowflakes began to fall from the pitch black sky outside.

Charlotte sighed, tossing another log into the stove, her stew stubbornly refusing to boil. She glanced at the woodpile, the three tiny logs lying there in an almost mocking sort of way.

The clouds blocked out much of the sunlight, but she knew it would be dark soon. She held onto the counter, trying her hardest not to think of the worst, but she couldn’t help it.

He could be lost, stranded with no direction, no food, no warmth.

She shook her head, coming to her senses. Arthur may view himself as nothing but muscle and absolutely no brain, but as his wife, she knew better. He had an excellent sense of direction and survival skills. Any minute he’d be through that door with a load of firewood, and maybe even an animal or two.

She asked if she could come. Two heads were better than one, she tried to reason.

“No, darlin’, as much as I’d love to go with you, I need you stayin’ home and watchin’ over the house, keepin’ it warm. Wouldn’t want any strangers takin’ residence while we’re gone, would we?”

More than one weary traveller, some more hostile than others, had taken up residence in their home on more than one occasion while the two of them were off on hunting trips. While she understood where Arthur was coming from, she couldn’t escape her fear of the worst. She’d already lost one of the men she loved dearly to the harsh conditions of nature, she couldn’t bear to lose another one.

Her motionless broth seemed to stare back up at her as it refused to boil. “You ain’t making this easy for me, broth.”

Talking to an inanimate substance? The snow really was making her stir crazy. Arthur had better hurry up before I start talking to the logs, she thought.

Figuring the broth was nowhere near boiling over, she took those three pathetic logs sitting on the woodpile and tossed them in the fireplace. She looked around for a match, lit it with a satisfying strike, and tossed it on the pile. The flames licked up the logs, but Charlotte knew it couldn’t last long. She lay back on a chair in the kitchen, staring into the flames of the fire. She smiled, her eyes following the flames as they danced along the logs, remembering all those years ago when her and Arthur danced around the campfire on their little outdoor honeymoon getaway. They drank and sang and made love their fair share of times by the roaring flames of the fire. Sure, it was no fancy trip in the big city, but it was simple and memorable.

Unfortunately, the fire before her sounded more of a purr as opposed to a roar. She let out another sigh, looking back at the empty woodpile, longing for her strong handsome woodsman to return.

As if on cue, she heard the door handle jiggle, as the man she had been longing to see emerged from the snowy darkness outside.

“Arthur!” She arose, practically pouncing on him. He moved his scarf away from his cherry red face, panting from the effort of carrying.. firewood. Loads of it. Charlotte sighed with relief at the sight, wrapping her arms around him. She didn’t care that he was like an icicle, nor that she would get wet from the snow that dusted his wooly blue coat. Her hands met his face, cold despite the large beard he sported. Her lips met his, her warm pink lips melting his icy blue ones.

“Charlotte,” he breathed. “Glad I made it in time. Bundle up and help me haul in some of this wood. I have a feelin’ this is only the beginin’ of this snow storm.”

She threw on a sweater, a coat, and a pair of boots. She opened the door to the dark depths of the winter night. The bitter cold nipped at her entire body despite being bundled up head to toe. She tried to imagine how good the fire would feel against her and her lover’s bodies once they were in the warmth of their little home.

Arthur had made quite the haul. Firewood, some supplies from the general store, and even a deer. She smiled, feeling her body warm up as she thought of how wonderful and lucky she was to have a man like him.

They fought against the wind back into the house. It took the strength of the two of them to even get the door closed. They both panted and fell against each other.

“Well, we best get cozy, darlin.’ We’re gonna be here awhile.” Arthur said, removing his snow covered clothes.

Charlotte returned to the kitchen, the pot of broth finally showing signs that it was preparing to boil. She threw another log on the stove for good measure.

Arthur came up behind her and kissed her cheek, his cold lips sending a shiver down her spine. “How’s everything comin’ along?”

She smiled as the both began to boil. “Rather nicely now that you’ve returned, cowboy.”

“Hmmm I figured I’d have the opposite effect. My coldness would ruin any hopes of ever makin’ a good meal.”

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Morgan.” She stirred in the ingredients: savory chicken, carrots, onions, and peas. “Because I think you’re so hot, you make pots boil. You made mine boil when you walked through that door.” She looked back at him, stirring the pot in lazy circles. “Cheeks still rosy from the cold?”

“Er, yeah,” he fumbled, “you could say that.”

She rubbed his face, running her fingers through his beard. “You hungry?”

His hands ran along her hips. “Starvin’..”

“We could eat in front of the fire if you’d like. It’d be a nice change, don’t you think?”

“Sure, sounds cozy.” He gave her hips one last squeeze before getting two bowls from the above cabinets. “Smells delicious.’”

“You talking about the soup or are you talking about me, dear?” She gave him a small smile.

“Can’t I be talking about both?” Like a magnetic attraction, his hands were back on her hips.

“Goodness you’re handsy tonight!” She giggled. “Alright, soup’s on.”

He gave her cheek a quick peck before serving himself a large bowl of soup. She unwrapped some bread she had been saving for tonight and placed it in each of their bowls. They brought their meals over to the fireplace, sitting in front of it.

Arthur took a sip, his body quickly warming up from the combination of the fire and the broth. He let out a satisfied groan. “This soup’s real good, sweetheart.”

“Well I’m glad you think so,” she beamed. “I always worry I’ll muck something up.”

“That’d be pretty hard for you to do, Char.” He smiled at her, motioning for her to sit closer to him. She obliged, cosying up to him and resting her head on his shoulder.

The sounds of the crackling fire and the slurping of soup filled the room. Arthur tipped his bowl back, finishing the rest of the broth. He let out a satisfied sigh and took Charlotte’s bowl as well, putting them next to the sink to be washed. He’ll clean up eventually, he thought. Right now all he wanted to do was warm up his wonderful wife.

He changed into his union suit, catching a glimpse outside the window. The snow came down with a vengeance. He grabbed a log from the pile and tossed it into the dying flames. The fire continued to dwindle.

“Goddamm it,” he muttered, bending over to grab the poker and stir the ashes around. He felt the familiar sensation of a hand giving his behind a light smack. He turned around, his wife looking around, a mischievous grin plastered on her face.

He arched an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary, darlin’?”

“Was what necessary?” She tried looking away, but try as she might, her lips continued to curl into a smile.

“You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about, missy. Your hand just loves smackin’ my ass, don’t it?”

“That is quite the accusation, Mr. Morgan!”

“I oughtta smack YOU on the ass.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Well? What’s stopping you?”

He studied her for a second, then knelt down next to her. “Goddamn, have you always been this naughty?”

“Always have, always will be. It’s one of the reasons you married me, remember?” She lay back on the carpet. “Now get me a blanket, would you, darling? It’s freezing in here.”

He sighed, tossing her a few blankets. He tossed another log on the fire, then lay next to her. He wrapped his arms around her as she shivered against him. He scooted the two of them closer to the fire. “There, now that’s better.”

She nuzzled against his chest and yawned. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” He looked down at her.

“How long do you think we’ll be in here? Waiting out this storm?”

He looked outside again, the snow showing no signs of stopping. “Awhile. Don’t know how long exactly, but we’ve survived much worse. ‘Sides, I stocked up on food and supplies, we’ll be fine.

She sighed, looking up at him and kissing his cheek. “Well, we’ve got plenty of time, what should we do to pass it?”

He chuckled. “Well, there’s always dominoes, and redecoratin’, and we can always be workin’ on our marriage.”

“Oh? And how exactly do you want to work on that?” She held his hand, circling his palm with her thumb.

“Well, when’s the last time we’ve had to ourselves like this? Seems like we’re always busy with housework, farmwork, all kinds of work. This is a good opportunity for us to just… be in each other’s presence.”

She hummed against his chest. “Sounds wonderful.”

The flames of the fire crackled, and Charlotte let out a small, breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked.

“Oh just remembering our little honeymoon.”

Arthur smiled as the memories came flooding back. “That little camping trip.”

“Yes! Remember, out on the lake?”

“How could I forget? We tipped the whole damn canoe over!” He laughed, rocking back and forth and waving his arms around dramatically, reenacting the fateful moment.

The two of them collapsed on the floor in a heap of giggles, cuddling up to each other to trap the warmth again as their laughter died down. Charlotte looked into the flames of the fire, a small smile on her face. “And the campfire,” she mused. “Illuminated the entire night sky. Millions of tiny stars, looking down at us.”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, I remember.Them crickets were noisy sons of bitches, weren’t they?”

“I think they thought the same thing about us, dear.” She ran her hands along his chest, gazing into his blue eyes that perfectly complimented his rosy cheeks.

“Darlin’, you were the one makin’ all the noise,” he said in a low tone.

She sighed, resting her head against his chest. “You’re right, you always were a good lover.”

He rubbed her back, gazing into the flames as well. “You know, we could alway reenact that night. If you’re up to it that is.”

She smirked, smooching his cheek. “I thought you’d never ask,” she whispered in his ear, giving it a small nip. He let a gasp escape his lips.

“Jesus, darlin’.” His lips met hers as he gracefully flipped her onto her back. “I was on top, remember?” He pinned her wrists to the soft, welcoming rug beneath them. It was her turn to let out a gasp. A bead of sweat dripped down her brow, the weight of her husband’s warm body causing blood to rush throughout her entire being.

She kissed his neck and moaned. “Are you sure I wasn’t the one on top?” She wrapped her legs around his torso and twisted her body around and caught him off guard. Arthur grunted, his wife now the one staring down at him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Who knew such a typically mild mannered woman could have the drive and spunk of a working girl? He felt himself growing stiff beneath her.

“No, darlin’, you’ve got it all wrong, remember? You were on top when we was by the lake, after we went skinny dippin’. I remember ‘cause the rocks were diggin’ into my back, but hell, it was worth is just to watch myself disappear inside of you over and over again.”

Warmth flooded her core as she began to grind against his leg. “Well, which was it, Arthur? Make up your mind before...before I..” She buried her face in the crook of his neck and moaned.

“Look at you…” he chuckled. “You gonna cum before I’m even inside you?”

She shook her head.

“Thought not. Goddamn, you must be soaked.” He held her against him and kissed her lips. He lay her back down against the soft texture of the rug, his hands exploring her body, as they had on that fateful night. “Now it’s all comin’ back to me. You were lyin’ there, the light of the fire dancin’ across your nude body…” His hands played with the straps of her nightgown before sliding them off, revealing her bare bosom. “Your breasts, milky white…” He planted kisses on them, his calloused fingers running across her pink buds.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan. “Yeah? Then what?”

He slid the nightgown further down her body. “Your stomach, soft and delicate” His voice had grown low and a bit hoarse.

Charlotte rubbed her thighs together, her breath shallow as she anticipated his next move.

Finally, he slid the nightgown completely off of her body, the cold air hitting her skin. She shivered, not from the air, but from the sensation of Arthur’s bearded face rubbing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He kissed all the way up her thigh until he reached her core. He placed his fingers against it, and while a layer of cloth separated his touch from her body, she still left out a soft moan.

“Yes...yes…” he growled. “I’m rememberin’ now. How you tasted…” He looked up at her as he slid her panties down her legs. “Darlin’, it’s takin’ everythin’ in me not to devour you right now.”

“W-what’s stopping you?”

That comment again. God, she was a relentless tease.

He stared at her as he gave her pussy a long, teasingly slow lick. She let out a soft whimper at the sensation of his warm tongue against her intimacy. Her juices continued to flow, and he was right there to lap them up with his eager mouth.

Her taste was familiar to his tongue, sweet as summer honeysuckles. His beard rubbed the skin of her inner thighs, and she arched her back as his tongue continued to explore the familiar territory of her folds. His cock throbbed against the tight fabric of his union suit. He longed to be inside her, to hold her against him as their heartbeats began to sync.

He growled, fumbling with the buttons of his suit and he moved his head back and forth. He ran his hand along his entire length, finally letting it free from its previous confines.

His wife couldn’t help but glance down and moan at the sight of her husband pleasuring himself while he pleasured her. She bucked against his face, feeling herself reaching her peak.

His calloused thumb made lazy circles around her clit while his other thumb circled the head of his cock.

Charlotte bit her lip and whimpered, squirming against her husband’s face.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he growled, “cum for me. You can do it, I know you’re close. Fuck…” His cock leaked with precum.

She arched her back and moaned out his name, and while no one could feasibly hear them in the middle of the woods, right at that moment it felt like the entire world knew that Arthur Morgan was filling her with ecstasy as she reached her climax.

She panted, her body coated with a thin layer of sweat. “Oh...Oh, Arthur..”

He panted heavily as well, sliding beside her and kissing her, his face and beard still lingering with the taste and scent of her.

“Mmm that’s a good girl…” he whispered in her ear.

Her hands squeezed his glistening biceps, then trailed down to his chest and stomach. She played with his chest hair, a sly smirk on her face. “My big man loves to eat, hmm?” she teased, kissing his neck and nipping his earlobe.

“You’re damn right I do.” He let out a grunt, his cock twitching.

Charlotte kissed him and shimmied the rest of his suit down his body.

“Now we’ve just gotta stay close together so we don’t freeze to death,” she said, her hand gripping his length and stroking it. She kissed his lips, muffling the groan that escaped his mouth.

“Mmm I want us both facin’ the fire,” he whispered. “No more fightin’ to be on top.”

“Yes sir.” She obeyed, laying on her side facing the fire.

He slid her body against his, turning her face so he could kiss her. He lifted her leg, reaching a hand around to rub her pussy, still soaked from their previous interaction.

He slid inside of her with ease, both of them gasping practically the same breath. His cock inside of her was a familiar feeling that seemed to bring her more pleasure with each thrust.

His large hand clasped her smaller one, the both of them unable to take their eyes off of the other one. The fire continued to roar, and while the outside raged with icy wrathfulness, the inside of their little cabin was a hearth of comfort and pleasure.

“Darlin’, I…” he growled, twitching inside of her.

A familiar, floaty feeling began to rise in her stomach, and she let out a soft moan.

He brought their clasped hands down to her sensitive bundle of nerves. With his hand over hers, he guided her and pleased her, as an artist guides his brush across a canvas, and as an artist creates a passion filled work of art, so too were they.

She squirmed against him, barely able to contain herself as she moaned out broken pieces of his name.

“That’s it, goddamn that’s it…” he growled in her ear. “Cum with me, be a good girl and cum with me..”

The fire crackled and sparked and so did she, moaning as she came undone once more.

Arthur pulled out and groaned, spilling his seed on her stomach.

The two of them collapsed in a heap of sweat, the both of them panting and staring up at the ceiling, holding hands.

Finally, Arthur mustered up the strength to get up and retrieve a wet cloth to clean up his wife. He smirked as he cleaned her. “You were so good tonight.”

“So were you, dear.” She kissed him. “You always know exactly what I need.”

The fire began to fizzle out. Charlotte sighed and arose, retrieving a log from the pile and tossing it into the fireplace. The light of the flames illuminated every curve of her nude form. Arthur’s heart beat a bit faster at the sight.

He wished to God he could capture her in that same pose. He’d be sure to sketch a replica of it, hell, maybe have her model for him just so he had an excuse to see her naked again. Either way, the sight of her looking like a work of art made his heart soar. She definitely beat all the dirty cigarette cards he and the old gang members used to trade.

“Something on your mind, Arthur?”

He blinked a few times before chuckling. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about you and how lovely you look.”

She smiled and lay down beside him, kissing his forehead. “You’ve still got it, darling.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I’m not kidding. You were wonderful tonight. It was almost identical to our honeymoon.”

He furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at her. “Almost?”

“Well, we weren’t under the stars!”

He looked out the window, the snow still coming down fast. “Darlin’, you’d better be thankin’ the lord we weren’t doin’ it outside. We’d be freezin’ our asses off in all that snow.”

She giggled, nuzzling against him and kissing his chest. “Well we may not have been making love under the stars, but you certainly made me see stars tonight, Mr. Morgan.”

He chuckled, pulling her against him and kissing her one more time before drifting off to sleep.

#arthur x charlotte #arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #charlotte balfour #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2

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blinder-secrets · 4 years

Text

Between Palms

fem!reader x michael gray

warnings: power imbalance, role play, mild nsfw (its a slow burn but hang in there trust me)

wordcount: 4,125

It seemed silly really, a birthday meal at Arrow House, but here you were. Invite accepted and fulfilled, even though you were just there as a plus one. An almost family member. Michael had you living in his house, accompanying him to every event, and yet your finger was still empty of the ring you both knew would come eventually. He’s waiting for the right moment, you suppose. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone knows he’s yours, and you’re his. Even Polly is starting to treat you like a daughter.

‘Is it his actual birthday today?’ you ask Michael, as he takes your coat in the entry way.

‘Don’t know.’ He passes it to Mary, who you’ve only just been introduced to. 'Tomorrow I think.’

You hum. This was the family version then, they’d spend his birthday alone, just the two of them. ‘It’s quite sweet, isn’t it?’ you muse. You’d never have marked either Tommy or Lizzie as the sentimental sort.

Michael snorts. ‘Sweet, yeah.’ From his smirk, you know he doesn’t even remotely agree.

‘The meal is being served,’ Mary tells you, careful in her interruption. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

‘Oh, course, sorry.’ You nod and gesture for her to continue; you’d almost forgotten that the both of you were late. ‘Come on,’ you say to Michael, offering your hand.

He takes it readily, his palm warm and soft against yours. From the look of him, his sharp suits, his set hair and his square jaw, you’d always assumed he would shy away from touches like that. That he’d keep his hands in his pockets and his character professional, impenetrable. But, he never does with you. Whenever you give your hand, he takes it, locks his fingers around it. He’d let you pull him half way across the world, you think. If you tried.

In the main dining room, you’re met by the rest of the family. They’re seated already, talking and drinking around the platters of food, the plates already filled with some expensive cut of meat. The conversation stills as you enter, a few of them beginning to stand to greet you.

‘No, no don’t,’ you say quickly, waving them down again. ‘We’ve got time for that later.’

‘Tommy,’ Michael says, acknowledging him with a nod. ‘Happy Birthday.’

‘Yes,’ you add, ‘we left your gift with Mary.’ You’re sure he doesn’t care what it is, you don’t even know that he’ll ever open it. It’d had felt wrong to go to a birthday party without taking something.

Tommy almost matches your waiting smile. It’s as much of a response as you’ll get. ‘Please,’ he says, gesturing to the two empty chairs, ‘sit down. Get a drink.’

You take your seat which is, of course, next to Michael. Your Michael. He’s holding the chair out for you, ready to tuck it in as you sit. Always the gentleman like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. You smile up at him in thanks, but he just touches your shoulder briefly before sitting himself. ‘Looks great,’ he comments, eyes down as he scans the lay of food and alcohol before him. His accent’s stronger when he’s with them, like he picks it up at the door. At home it almost disappears, melts into something softer, some remnant of his upbringing. You haven’t decided yet which it is that you prefer. It’s what he says that charms you.

‘It’s nice of you to have us, Tommy,’ you say, leaning around Michael to smile at him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, as uninterested in the food as you’d expected him to be. His eyebrows raise in response to your comment, and he half-shakes his head, as if to say, oh it’s no problem, no trouble. From the way Lizzie’s smiling beside him, you know that it was all her really. Her idea, her planning. She wanted him and the family to have something nice for once and so here you were.

‘And Lizzie, of course,’ you add. ‘Thank-you.’

‘Our pleasure,’ she replies gently, lifting her glass. ‘Please, eat. Before it gets cold.’

You nod and bring your focus back to Michael, who’s lit a cigarette and is now resting between drags. It sits between his fingers on the table, smoke pulling up and over his plate, swirling his meal in grey. How he doesn’t mind, you have no idea. He may as well peel it open and eat the tobacco instead.

‘Michael,’ you scold quietly, knocking your elbow against his. ‘Put it out.’

He clears his throat and sits straighter, lifting the cigarette for a final taste. ‘Was in my head,’ he comments on the exhale, before taking another sharp, final drag. ‘Think we should do something like this.’

You watch him lean forward and stub the cigarette out, into the ashtray in the middle. ‘Do what?’

‘Have a dinner,’ he says, sitting back again. ‘For you, for your birthday.’

Snorting, you shake your head and turn to pick up your cutlery. The house you have together is nowhere near big enough to accommodate for the Shelby side, let alone your family too. Not that you would invite them anyway. They’d see Arthur and go running, hear Johnny Dogg’s jokes and flush red with shame.

‘Yeah? And who would arrange that?’ you ask. You take a bite and throw him a closed-lip smile between chews. ‘I’m not doing it.’

He shrugs. ‘Well, I will.’

The beef is cooked perfectly, you cut another piece off as you reply. ‘You’re good with numbers, Michael, not parties.’

‘Alright.’ He picks up his fork limply, too focused on the side of your face to even consider eating something himself. ‘Mum will,’ he says to you, then, turning to her, ‘you’ll help, won’t you?’

Polly scoffs from opposite. You hadn’t realised she’d been paying attention, but of course she had. She never misses anything of interest. ‘Not bloody likely,’ she chides. ‘You’ll have to do something for yourself one day, Michael.’ She’s smiling, teasing with her lips soft and curling, but it still sours him.

‘Fine,’ he says, slouching. ‘No party, then. Christ.’

You almost roll your eyes, but it isn’t often that he suggests something like this. Something flashy. Normally, any gesture of affection he has for you is quiet, private. Tucked away just for the two of you. A big party like the one Lizzie’s thrown for Tommy is entirely new; you hadn’t meant to shoot him down so quickly. Sighing, you soften your voice and say, ‘We can have a party, baby.’ He hums. You put your hand to his face, thumb angled for his chin, but he tilts his head away in the last second.

Before you can complain, Polly catches your attention again. ‘Here, love,’ she says, ‘have some more potatoes.’ She holds the dish up for you, over the centre of the table and the glasses between.

‘Sure, thanks.’

You take the offering and when you pull the dish toward you, the bottom catches on your wine glass. It tips quickly, spilling red over the table, over you. You half expect it to shatter against the edge of your plate.

Cursing loudly, you abandon the dish into Michael’s waiting hands. ‘Sorry, fuck, sorry.’ You stand quickly and the commotion hushes every conversation that had been rolling within the room.

‘You’re meant to drink it, love,’ Arthur laughs, from whichever end he’s sat at — you’re too busy patting your napkin frantically onto the tablecloth to check.

‘God, sorry, sorry Lizzie.’ It’s stained, it’s definitely stained and ruined.

‘It’s on your dress,’ Michael comments, like you hadn’t noticed.

‘Never mind the dress,’ you snap back. ‘The sheet’s ruined.’

Tommy clears his throat. ‘Its just the tablecloth, [y/n], sit down.’

‘It’ll do more damage to your dress, love,’ Lizzie adds, sympathetically. ‘It’s alright.’

You pause, huffing slightly, then sit clumsily back into your chair. It’s always you, it seems, to stand out like this. To be un-calculated, accidental. Every Shelby is so precise, and so careful, and so in control of everything at once, somehow. Michael’s a Gray but he’s got it too, the grace. Lizzie isn’t even blood related and she holds herself the same. What is it about you? What do you lack?

‘Don’t worry,’ Michael says quietly, interrupting the thought by pouring words into your ear. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up.’

You don’t answer him, you just pout and dab at the stain on your lap. The wine’s sunk in deep already. It looks purple, not red, against the fabric.

‘Mary could help,’ he offers, after sighing at your silence. ‘She’ll be in the kitchen.’

You nod and stand, clutching the soggy napkin in your palm. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ you say to the table. Your voice only catches the attention of Polly and Finn, but no-one else challenges you when you turn to leave. It’s just another of your quirks, they must think, just something you do. They either don’t care, or didn’t see.

You hurry from the room with your ears turning hot. Michael will tell you later that you were being silly, worrying over nothing, but right now it feels mortifying. Leaving the room to see a maid about a stain. In the middle of a dinner party, no less.

When you reach the kitchen, Mary startles. Her eyes widen at the sight of you, like your presence alone means she’s done something wrong, like she’s forgotten something and you’re here to chase her up on it.

‘Don’t worry,’ you tell her, gesturing to your dress. ‘I just wanted to see if you had something for this.’

Her expression softens. The gentle folds in her face fall slack and for a moment she reminds you of your grandmother, though she never had the gall to be a gangster’s housekeeper. ‘Is it wine, miss?’

You sigh. ‘Tragically, yes.’

‘There isn’t much we can do for that.’ She hums. ‘But I’ll try, please sit.’

She gestures to the table, and the chairs which are wooden, and bare, and much plainer than the dining set upstairs. It’s welcoming in a way elegance will never be. You sigh into the seat and watch her pull bottles from various cupboards, busying herself quickly. Her dress folds as she does, creasing at her waist, comfortable enough to not restrict her movements. If only yours was like that. The dress you’re wearing is too expensive, and too tight, to be any good for anyone. Now, it isn’t even pretty.

‘Mary,’ you start, stilling her as soon as the idea strikes, lighting itself as a match would. ‘Do you have any spare uniforms?’

Her brow arches slowly, like she’s unsure of your intention and even more unsure of asking for it. ‘Miss?’

‘That I can wear,’ you explain. The thought is rolling, piling up and catching speed in your head. It makes sense really, a worker’s fit for the working woman, an apron for the spills. If the Shelbys can’t find the humour in it, you certainly will.

‘Only the ones the maids wear,’ she says.

You smile. If Michael could see you now, he’d accuse you of plotting something. He’d be right. ‘Perfect,’ you tell her, ‘that’s perfect, Mary.’

If your exit was quiet, unnoticed, then your return may as well have been an explosion. A great tremor to the room and all its inhabitants. You’re barely through the doorway before Arthur’s laugh is bursting from his chest, barking over Johnny’s head toward you. From the noise of it, the rest turn in your direction. Conversation is tossed out the window and onto the lawn. Lizzie laughs, more out of shock than anything else, Polly mutters a ‘Christ’, and you’re sure you catch Finn swallowing his beer like it’s running out. How Tommy reacts, you don’t know, you don’t look.

‘Fucking hell, woman, almost lost me drink over that,’ Johnny says, speaking before anyone else has chance to.

You reach the table and give a half-confident bow, with your gaze sitting easily on Michael. ‘Would you like a refill, mister?’ you ask falsely, twisting your voice high enough that it hardly sounds like you at all.

His eyebrows lift, eyes widening, and then they drop again, quickly, like nothing’s happened. His face hardens slightly. Then, he turns away, facing forward, and he goes very still, and very quiet, and you don’t quite know what he’s thinking. You thought he’d laugh, or at least make some snarky comment about not mingling with the help. Instead, his eyes sit on the whiskey in his hands like you aren’t even there.

‘What the hell you got that on for?’ Arthur asks, amusement in the crinkles by his eye. ‘Eh?’

You force a smile at him. ‘Thought I’d give you something to dream about, Arthur.’

There’s few snorts in response and then Tommy puts them to rest. ‘Alright, alright, sit down,’ he says, lighter than you’d expected, ‘unless you’d like to help serve pudding.’

‘If it gets me on the payslip, I’ll consider it,’ you reply, pulling your chair out to sit.

Michael doesn’t acknowledge you still. The plates are cleared, your wine glass is upright again, refilled, and then dessert is brought out. Everything in order as Lizzie’s itinerary no doubt demanded. By the time everyone’s eating again, your outfit is entirely forgotten about. There’s no comment on the plain black dress, no jokes on the white apron that pulls it tight to your waist, no awareness of it at all. You almost regret not wearing the matching hair-band, maybe if you did Michael would have had something more interesting to say.

When the other guests are suitably distracted, he finally leans into you, whispering harshly by your ear. ‘What’re you wearing?’ he asks. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s frowning.

Your eyebrows pinch, gaze on the spoonful of tart that you’re chasing around the plate. It’s very obvious that you’re wearing what the maids wear. It’s a joke, Michael, ever heard of that? ‘My dress is ruined,’ you answer. ‘I’ve left it with Mary to work on the stain.’

‘And you couldn’t find anything else to wear?’

‘No,’ you say firmly. ‘I couldn’t.’

His jaw flexes. He downs the last of his whiskey like it’s laudanum and you’re the ache. He wants to say something, you can see it, but he holds himself back. He shakes his head like he’s knocking it down, forcing it into his throat with the liquor.

After that, the pair of you eat in silence, and when Tommy invites the party to move into one of the more comfortable rooms, you stand in silence too. You let the rest of them go ahead of you. When Polly passes on her way out, she says, ‘That’s something I’d have done when I was your age,’ and even though she’s being friendly, you wish she hadn’t. The last thing you needed now, was to be told that you were acting like your boyfriend’s mother.

You follow the crowd out of the dining room with Michael behind you. Before you can get much further, he catches your wrist, tugging you back and sideways into one of the shorter hallways. It’s dimly lit, a hardly used corridor between rooms that you’d never been to, never even noticed. He sets you against the wall, careful despite the firmness of his grip, and then his hand lifts from your arm to sit flat on the wallpaper by your head.

‘Are you trying to embarrass me?’ he says sourly, words forced over sharp teeth.

You frown. ‘No? Why would I?’

‘This.’ His chin dips and lifts again, gesturing to the uniform. He isn’t sneering but it’s implied.

‘I had to wear something, Michael.’ You had no idea it would offend him so much. You hadn’t even considered that it’d upset him, embarrass him. It was a stupid joke and a way out of a wine-stained dress.

He breathes heavily through his nose. He’s close, very close. The heat coming off him is warming you too, making the skin beneath your collar sticky with sweat. He lets his gaze sink down your body, then drags it up again, slowly.

‘What’s the problem?’ you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes find yours and harden, the angles of his jaw setting like he’s forcing it to. Oh. Oh, you think, oh, that’s what this is. It doesn’t offend him, he isn’t insulted. He’s embarrassed because you’ve found something out about him, you’ve brought something to the surface that he hadn’t even known himself, and you’d done it in front of his family, without warning.

You smile. It stretches slowly across your cheeks as the realisation solidifies. ‘Does this turn you on, Michael?’ you tease. ‘It that what it is?’

His eyes squint slightly but he says nothing. That’s a mistake — his silence just encourages you, dares you to push it further. You’re right. Now you know you are. You see it in the sharpness behind his expression, in the weighted breaths against your skin. In the way he steels himself before you.

‘Who would have thought?’ you purr, tilting your hips forward.

You catch the material of your dress at the waist, pinching it, so that your movement pulls the hem up your legs. His chin drops. The dress is bunched enough to reveal your thighs, just high enough to show the top seam of your stockings. With his free hand, he pushes carelessly under the apron and lifts, scrunching it by your hip to give him a better view. The air puffs out of his nose like he’s breathing manually, like if he doesn’t force it he’ll stop all together.

‘Have I embarrassed you, Mr. Gray?’ you drip, honey pouring from your mouth, sinking into him like an opiate. It’s new, but it’s easy. It comes naturally. Perhaps it’s always been like this; without you realising, without you caring. A power imbalance that you both liked.

You’re looking at his lashes when his eyes dart back to you. ‘Stop it,’ he warns. The apron falls down again, his hand pulls away from the wall. ‘Don’t.’

‘Why?’ You’re enjoying it too much to pay any attention to his order. ‘Would you prefer I call you Sir?’

He swallows. You bite down on your lip as you wait for a response, half-convinced that he’s about to storm away and leave you there. Then, slowly, slowly like he’s fighting and losing, letting it flood the cracks, letting it pull him under, he leans into you. His palm cups your cheek. His head drops to put his mouth just below your chin, angled and ready by your neck.

‘Say it again,’ he coaxes, voice rough over your throat.

Your breath shakes, quiet, fragile from your mouth. ‘Say what, sir?’

He exhales sharply but it catches, and for a moment it sounds like he’s growled. Your Michael, growling, with his breath hot and heavy against you. If you took drugs, this would be yours, this would be your fix. You run your hand up his side, under the jacket and over the waistcoat.

‘Do you like it, sir?’ you ask.

‘Fuck.’ The words drags out of him, scrapes through his teeth like he hasn’t realised. ‘Bring it home,’ he says, pulling his face up to look at you. He looks serious, so serious, and so desperate that it should be ridiculous.

‘What?’

‘The dress,’ he answers tightly, ‘the outfit. Bring it home with you.’

You’ve won. Somehow, you’ve won. You’d put on a uniform you had no right to wear, and now Michael was begging for you to bring it home. Desperate to have you like this, again, just for him. And you would, of course you would, you’d be an idiot to deny him something like that. To deny something so mutually beneficial. You’d get your dress back from Mary, and thank her kindly, and then take the maid’s clothes home without saying anything else. But, that was no fun now, that didn’t see to the ache that had started to build between your legs. That didn’t feed the hunger. You had Michael alone, in a darkened corridor, needy and tightroping between disciplines, teetering on the edge of his restraint. That’s too rare, too good to lose. You won’t let it end yet.

Instead, you pout your bottom lip and say, ‘Don’t you want me now? Did I do something wrong, sir?’

He groans, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

You’re impatient so, tiring of the gap, you pull him forward so that your hips are together. He’s hard, you realise, taut against his trousers. You’ve barely touched him and already he wants you, his body craves the way yours does. ‘Kiss me,’ you say messily, quickly, forgetting all about the persona you’d adopted. ‘Kiss me, Mikey.’

‘Hm?’ he hums, putting his other hand to your face, holding you still as he settles his attention on you again. He pushes back until your spine is straightened along the wall. ‘What was that?’

The slip in character hadn’t gone unnoticed. It’d broken the tension enough to give him the upper hand, to finally let him make his play.

‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ he says. ‘Do you?’ The words pour out of him thickly, whiskey and languid control melting across your cheeks, over your lips.

‘Sorry, sir,’ you reply.

Now, it was your own breath that came stiffly, unwilling to move of its own accord. Your chest rises against his because you tell it to. The pressure from his crotch grows, firm and wanting against the dip in your hip.

His tongue runs between his lips once. He’s following your expression carefully, noting each shift, each hesitation. He can see you’re cracking, you’re sure of that. The look he has is the look of a man who’s already won. One that has want he wants, but enjoys the sport of taking it. He puts his nose to the hair by your ear and breathes in deeply, sending goosebumps along your skin. ‘Ask properly,’ he says, his voice low, rumbling.

You swallow quickly. You’re flushing hot. There’s fire in you, flames curling and rising, pulling upwards from your thighs, your stomach, swallowing your heart before it can stutter a beat. ‘Please,’ you start, ‘please kiss me, sir.’

‘Better.’

His eyelids flutter once, as he looks to your lips, and then he’s kissing you. Hard. Harder than he has for a while.

Your hands go to his wrists, hanging onto him as he holds you, as he kisses you into the wall, into the house, through the brickwork and into Elysium. You moan against him and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, wanting more. Needing more.

‘Not a sound,’ he pants as he pulls away. His grip on your face disappears and then his hands are on your thighs, roughly, desperately. His palms settle behind your knees and tug them up, lifting your legs off the ground and putting them around his waist instead. He takes your weight like it’s nothing; uses his hips and his own body against you to keep you upright, between him and the wall. ‘Not a fucking sound, right?’

You nod, frantic, already reaching for him again, already pushing your mouth to his for the taste. For the whiskey. For the heat and the need, and the tongue between your teeth, for his cock, hard and ready against the softest part of you.

He pushes the dress up abruptly, piling it and the apron over your stomach. ‘I want to hear you say it,’ he breathes, forcing it between kisses. ‘Say you’ll keep quiet.’ His touch is searing, alight with something so untapped, it’s raw. Primal.

‘I’ll be quiet, sir,’ you answer pliantly. Willingly. He could ask anything of you now and you’d give it to him, you’d bleed it into his palm like molten silver. ‘Please fuck me,’ you beg. ‘Please, sir.’

He growls again and this time it’s on purpose. His face buries into your neck, into the base of your throat. He kisses the skin hungrily, wet and biting, lustful. He takes you and you let him, you invite him to, because you always have wanted it, the imbalance. The game was fake but the power is real, the submission is honest. Cultivated. It was him over you, always, and you liked that. You wanted that more than anything and now you had it, scorching between your fingers. Burning you into the wallpaper.

You moan; his hand goes to your mouth firmly, flat palm against your lips. An order without words. Quiet, he says, stay quiet. All you have to do is oblige.

#michael x reader #michael gray x reader #Michael Gray imagine #michael gray #peaky blinders fanfic #RIGHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT I WAS A BIT CHEEKY WITH THIS ONE #me writing cock one single time: im a smut writer now #let me know what you htink!!!!

317 notes · View notes

a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

How the Peaky Blinders React To Your Scars

So the original request was a reader having a large facial scar she covers up, I tried to make it a lil flexible/easier to cover up, very similar to my GoT scar preference? sure why not

In this preference, you'll be with: Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, Ada Shelby, Polly Gray, Michael Gray, Alfie Solomons, Lizzie Stark, Isaiah Jesus, Luca Changretta, Aberama Gold

THOMAS SHELBY

To be blunt about it, you intrigued Tommy more than most women because you were still startlingly pretty, and you had such a peculiar, almost haunting look in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be drawn in. He’d find an excuse to talk to you, even if you tried to dodge his attempts at conversation for one reason or another. Tommy would never stare or address you differently, he’d seem the same to anyone who knew him, but internally he was very interested by the mystery of it all.

He’d never ask you directly what happened, never. You’d have to volunteer that information, and he’d wait. However … as his affection grew, he’d grow protective even if you weren’t an item, and he’d begin to wonder if the person who did it was still alive, god help them. He’d become attached now, and anyone who stared or insulted you would be lucky to get off with just a harsh word.

ARTHUR SHELBY

You were used to people being startled when they looked at you, and Arthur was no different, so you brushed it off. Mr. Shelby worked with your boss, so you had to be polite. You just wish he’d stop staring whenever he came in to do business. The thing was, Arthur began to overlook the scar and was getting flustered from how sweet and charming you were. That was more disarming. The misunderstanding continued until he was waiting in your boss�� shop and overheard some man quietly insulting you to his friend… That ended with your boss hastily cleaning blood and glass off the floor and you alone with Arthur, dabbing a cloth on his bloody knuckles. He sort of blurted out the best apology he had, fumbling over his words and basically confessing how pretty and sweet he found you.

When you’re dating, any thoughts about the scarring falls to the wayside, as it’s just a part of you. Only sometimes when you look a little forlorn as you touch your face does he wonder what happened, though he feels like he’d just screw up if he asked about it. You know he still finds you lovely no matter what, because it just takes a kiss and a smile to get him to blush.

JOHN SHELBY

John puts his foot in his mouth constantly, everyone knows that. When he first saw you walk into the betting office to get to work, he blurted, “Did she get cut or what?”. Ada hit him so swiftly he stumbled back in surprise. He’d never seen a woman with scars like that, and you were still pretty, he realized a few minutes later. He knew what he said was idiotic, but it still took a few days before he managed an apology to you, feeling like a fool the whole time. He was interested, though, so John would hang around and talk with you when you weren’t busy. He started to get quite a crush, and it bothered him to think what happened to you. He thought back to all the men he cut, and it filled him with anger and disgust to think of someone doing the same to you.

Later when you two were an item, anytime John recalled that first meeting he felt his soul cringing out of his body. He’ll still randomly apologize for it, and you remind him it’s been more than a year at that point. It would be best to tell John what happened, because he’d think of all these scenarios in his head and it’d drive him a little mad wondering which was true. You better believe he’d become unreasonable and think of revenge if the person who did it was still around.

ADA SHELBY

Truthfully, Ada was drawn to you because she felt pity. It must have hurt so much, and being a woman, you must have been given a hard time, both before and after the ordeal … Well, you proved her wrong with how energetic and lively you were, not caring a bit about what people said. You didn’t even seem to notice it half the time. It made Ada think about how stupid and shallow her assumptions were… Also, it didn’t make you any less cute. She thought they were attractive, in an odd way, it only added to how interesting and different she found you. Her crush was hidden to no one who paid attention (which, granted, only Polly seemed to notice such things).

Ada wanted to befriend you right away, thinking she could keep that crush under control. Spoiler, she couldn’t. Whenever you show a more vulnerable side, worrying about how your scars look or remembering how you got them, Ada is quick to bring you close and give you plenty of kisses and reassurance. She’ll kiss your scarred side until there’s no question of her affection.

POLLY GRAY

She didn’t need to see the scars on your face to know you’d been through a hard time, it was there in your posture and your eyes, but you kept on. You worked for the Shelbys and you worked damn hard, although she wished you wouldn’t keep your head down all the time. Polly wish you’d speak up for yourself and stand your ground, and although she didn’t want to mother hen you, that would end up happening. For some reason, she felt a connection with you, although often she wondered if that was silliness on her part. When it came to the story of your scars, she’d let you come to her. It’d happen on a stormy evening when you were seated with her by the fire, full of warm tea, and the story would just come out.

You felt like you could tell her, and you could, Polly would take the secret seriously if you wanted it to be one. Still, she couldn’t help but think of who did it… If the person or group was still alive, still walking the streets of London, or hell - even Heath street - well … You wouldn’t tell, but she’d be silently struggling with what to do about it. After that, each time she’d look at your face, she’d get a nagging voice telling her to do something. Perhaps you didn’t want it, but perhaps you didn’t have to know.

MICHAEL GRAY

So, he’s a superficial young man, especially when it comes to women. He was disarmed by your appearance, even if he had to admit the rest of you was gorgeous. He knew it was an irrational feeling, but there it was. He didn’t want to get involved with a woman in the company, anyway. The thing was you were competent, and funny, and he relied on you more than once to get trickier deals done. Tommy trusted you as well, and it began to bother Michael when he noticed his cousin subtly flirting with you. It bothered him even more when someone commented on your looks - “Just look at her,” He’d hear someone sneer, and he’d loudly retort, “Yes, that color looks lovely on her, doesn’t it? She’s excellent to have at the company, for many reasons.”

He’d said things like that several times, but then you finally overheard. The defense startled you, since Michael always seemed so professional, so distant, but then you began to notice how protective he was getting, the little gifts he’d bring in, how many times he’d take you to dinners and parties. Eventually you had to just laugh and ask Michael if he was your boyfriend yet. A sudden kiss was your response.

ALFIE SOLOMONS

Frightening as he was to your father, Alfie was nothing but respectful and kind to you, even humorous. He liked to bring you something considerate, like flowers or some bread, whenever he discussed business with your father. It was so unlike the other men you’d met. For Alfie’s part, he’d never treat such a lovely, sweet lady any differently for something like a scar. He didn’t even care what the circumstances were, he was taken with you right away when he walked into your father’s establishment, and the scar didn’t add or take away from that. His favor wasn’t subtle at all, and as much as it flustered your father, Alfie made it clear he wanted to take you out at some point.

When you’re dating and intimate, he’s the sort of man to come to your defense no matter whose harassing you and what they’re saying. So, someone insulting your scarring gets the same punishment as someone whistling at you or questioning your virtue: Bloody bones. Alfie doesn’t like to show his temper in front of you, but protecting you is like a reflex. No one speaks about his girl like that. Much later when the cancer and the bullet begins to damage his eyes and face, he makes morbid jokes about how you two match and you’re clearly perfect for each other -- although you’re still far prettier.

LIZZIE STARK

In your first meeting, Lizzie immediately felt sorry for you, and that thought instantly bothered her. Who was she to assume you were some sad, lost bird? You seemed eager to work for the company, more focused on that than what you looked like, and she ought to not make assumptions. As Lizzie worked with you and became your friend, she stopped thinking about it, only glancing now and again if the light hit your scars just right. The problem with staring is she’d start looking at your eyelashes, then your lips, then your neck … Thank god you were too busy to notice. She hoped you didn’t notice, because then you might think she was looking at the scars… Although, in a way, they had their charm, too.

Lizzie is protective of you, especially if you don’t speak up. Anyone making a comment about you, even if it’s one of the Shelby boys, is going to get a sharp retort. She may even scold you for not sticking up for yourself, though you’ve heard everything under the sun at this point. She thinks you’re gorgeous and will tell you so, not settling for you blushing and shying away. She means it, damn it, and she’s not going to let a bunch of stupid men or stuck-up women make you feel bad about yourself.

ISAIAH JESUS

Because he’s helped his father with wounded men for years, scars don’t bother Isaiah like they do other people. He’s seen and helped patch up some grisly injuries that led to worse scarring. Isaiah was taken aback by your’s not because they were the worst he’s seen, far from it, but because he could tell what caused them and how much it could’ve hurt. While he was usually quick to flirt with any pretty girl in sight, it felt odd to do the same with you, almost disrespectful. So he approached you from a friendly perspective, and was glad that you both were able to talk so easily.

Once he gets to know you better and you’re friends, Isaiah wonders if it’s alright to give you some ointments to help if the scars start itching or aching. He asks his father for advice on this (his dad thinks the crush is cute). While he’s chill and easygoing when you hang out, his angry side comes out if anyone speaks out against you, and he knows plenty of young assholes who think they’re tough for harassing a girl. He’ll beat them up, no exceptions, though afterward he’d apologize bashfully for losing his head. Michael is the one who points out his crush during a night of drinking and Isaiah is too smashed to deny it. He’s completely taken with you.

LUCA CHANGRETTA

Most ladies Luca has been with are the more superficial type, meant exclusively to be arm candy, pleasure and little else. He was with one of them when he noticed you at a party. You had a bold, striking dress and an equally arresting smile - it took him a moment to notice the scars, but the people around you didn’t seem to notice, too interested in what you were saying. Luca liked that confidence, it drew him in right away. He liked that smile you had, it was crooked because of the scars, but it was cheeky and genuine. He spent much of the party speaking with you.

Luca liked taking you out on dates and spending money to please you. The more he got to know you, the deeper his feelings were, though he was mostly unaware of it until his father cheekily asked when you’d be introduced to the family. He was quick to your defense if anyone rudely commented on your scars or tried to ask you about them. Luca rarely thought of them after the first few dates, because there was so much else to focus on, in his opinion.

ABERAMA GOLD

It’s not just your unusual looks, but the sort of mystery that you give off that interests him. What can he say, he loves interesting people, especially if they’re pretty women. When he first started speaking to you with his usual charm, he realized that you didn’t believe him when he said you were lovely. Apparently you weren’t told that often, and that was a crime in his books. Each time you’d go out, he’d make a point to compliment your outfit and looks, and it was all genuine, even if you demurred or sighed in disagreement. You could’ve had scars all over and he’d still find you darling, and that was the truth.

While he wouldn’t push you to tell him what happened, often his mind would drift to it. He’d get angry thinking about who hurt you like that, and he’d idly wonder if they were still around … Maybe he could ask some questions, get some answers, so to speak. If you’d let him, he likes to run his fingers along them while he kisses you, feeling how soft the skin still is. He’d grin and offer to show you his old knife and bullet wounds … somewhere private, of course.

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders preference #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #ada shelby x reader #alfie solomons x reader #lizzie stark x reader #isaiah jesus x reader #luca changretta x reader #aberama gold x reader #polly gray x reader #michael gray x reader #somebody plz give isaiah some gifs sob

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

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Micah Bell HC’s - “Hey Sleepyhead”

It’s 4AM and I cannot sleep so I decided to write up some HC’s/scenario thingy where it’s a little sad and fluffy and hopefully it’s not too bad considering i wrote this at such an hour.

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It’s a well known fact that Micah has trouble sleeping and for that reason alone he tends to linger on the outskirts of camp when it gets darker.

The nightmares are really what gets him, waking up in the middle of the night shaking and clawing for air because his body can’t comprehend what just happened to him.

Micah’s grown up on the idea that fear equals weakness which is why he doesn’t like to sleep around camp because he’s afraid to look weak in front of others.

The only time he will sleep is when he’s absolutely hammered and there’s enough whiskey coursing through him that he just passes out on the table or beside a wagon with Bill

You’ve always known that Micah is sleep deprived. You instantly notice that he’ll sit and stare at the campfire all night, choosing instead to clean his guns so his hands have something to do.

Of course you can tell when he hasn’t slept in a while because his whole mood shifts and he’s more likely to pick fights with people around camp, his adrenaline filled brain will provoke anything that walks within a perimeter of him.

One particular morning he snapped at you when you greeted him with a smile.

“look why don’t you just piss off and go make yourself useful for a change”

The face you gave him, utterly hurt made him internally yell at himself, what is wrong with him? You’re the only one in this camp that actually bothers to talk to him or who seems keen to go on jobs with him.

You and Micah actually make the best team when it comes to robbing folk, he’ll never get over how well you work a gun and how intimidating you can be but somehow still be so kind to people, even someone like him.

It’s been days since he last slept and he’s doing everything he can to try resist sleeping.

He planned to just ride into Rhodes and book a room so he could at least sleep with a door closed knowing he’d be alone but oh no that’s not going to happen when Dutch tells him to investigate a homestead with you.

The robbery goes fairly smoothly except for the fact that you had to shoot the two raiders that he missed because his head is all over the shock.

The storm that rolls through means that the two of you are staying the night in the rundown cabin in the swamp lands.

You two share a can of vegetables and split the earnings between the two of you, leaving half for camp.

Micah hates that you laugh at his jokes and that you haven’t once mentioned that you saved his life today, he knows you’re not going to hold it over his head and patronise him.

Being the stubborn man that he is, he insists that you sleep while he takes guard but he can’t help feel his eyes get heavy and he drifts off to sleep with the fire keeping him warm and you by his side.

He’s jolts awake at god knows what hour, breathing heavily and in a state of panic with tears threatening to spill over his tired eyes.

Your hand on his arm does little to stop him trembling but you still rub small circles along his skin.

You’re hesitant to push him about it or make him get angry so you let go to reach into your satchel bringing out a canteen of water, handing it to him in a gentle manner.

The way Micah leans forward when your hand leaves his arm in an attempt to keep you there doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

You get up and sit next to him, close enough to feel the warmth from each other but you’re doing your best not to push too far.

Both of you spend the rest of the night sitting next to each other watching the fire in a comfortable silence, your hand back on his arm.

Ever since that night you and Micah spend more time together, not just for jobs or errands at camp but you’ll make camp before heading back where you two will sit, chat and god willing- sleep.

In your little camp hideouts, Micah will eventually open up to you, telling you about his nightmares and his family life which still lingers and haunts him.

He’s still a little surprised each time you don’t mock him but instead take his hand in yours, squeezing reassuringly as you kiss the back of his hand.

With Dutch and Hosea planning to rob both the Braithwaites and the Grays most of the camp is empty for a change.

You’re sitting in a green patch of grass down by the water, notebook in hand as you attempt to draw some of the wildflowers scattered in the grass but you never really had Arthur’s artistic style.

After a while Micah comes to sit beside you and ends up with his head resting on your lap.

His white hat is tipped off to the side but it still covers his eyes from the afternoon sun.

Eventually you stop trying to draw and watch the sun set over the water, your fingers gently brushing through Micah’s hair.

Micah’s soft snoring is adorable but it also makes you feel so happy that he’s comfortable enough to do this with you.

You’ve spent hours sitting there and it’s so peaceful but you’ve noticed that a few camp members are beginning to return now that it’s late into the night.

When Micah wakes up the first thing he sees is you smiling down at him and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t warm his heart.

“hey sleepyhead, feeling better?”

You place a kiss on his forehead, then his nose and finally his lips where you’re both smiling because what started out as the thing that terrorised Micah most, gave him the only thing he ever really wanted and that was for someone to love him as much as you do.

#micah bell #micah bell x reader #rdr2 #gn!reader #reader insert #rdr headcannons #rdr2 writing #fluff #sleepy micah is adorable and i need to hug him oml

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

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Could I get something for valentines day to do with the Shelby gang? I really don't mind what or who. I just feel like I need a little love for the day...

Valentines Day Head-Canons for the Shelby Family

A/N: Of course you can, anon! Hope you have a great day, whether you’re celebrating or not. It’s just a day, really, so I hope this cheers you up ;) Sending so much love x

Masterlist:

Arthur:

This man would be nervous as hell that he’d mess up valentines day with you. He’s not exactly known for being the romantic of the family, nor does he have the sophistication of his younger siblings. In fact, he’s sometimes surprised you’re even with him at all.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, though. Oh no, this man is going all out for the day and nothing is too much for you. He’ll have asked everyone, and I mean everyone, for advice about what to do to make the day special.

He’s not a many of many words so he lets his actions do the talking for him, giving you a massive bouquet of flowers as he comes to collect you for the evening.

“Arthur, they’re beautiful. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me. I mean, you even got orchids - my favourites. How did you know?”

“I remember you told me before, eh? When we were at that place down in London. The one with the fancy window displays.”

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

But that’s Arthur. He’s utterly head over heels for you, which is probably why he turns bright red as you kiss him on the doorstep before hurrying back inside to put them in some water.

He’d also make sure to open every door for you the entire night, refusing to let you even lift so much as a finger.

In fact, he even pulls your chair out for you in the restaurant he’s taking you to, glaring at the waiter who was going to do it, in a clear sign to back away if he wants to escape with his life.

“Arthur. I saw that. Behave.”

“I’m on my best behaviour, love. Promise.”

“Oh really? What a shame, as I had kind of hoped you wouldn’t be, considering that I’m wearing your present underneath this dress.”

Arthur almost combusts there and then.

Screw dinner - he wants to devour you and only you. Maybe that’s why he practically drags you out of the door at the end of the night, making you laugh as you hurry after him, the two of you fumbling with each other like horny teenagers.

Needless to say, you spend the rest of the night wrapped in a tangle of limbs, lost in an haze of pleasure as you gift one another with your bodies.

John:

Now, considering his kids and the fact they are more than a handful, he knows just how important time spent with just the two of you is. That would be his first and biggest gift, getting one of the family to agree to watch the hell spawn long enough for you two to spend some time alone together.

It’s just you and him for 24 hours of uninterrupted bliss, with no crying children or screaming babies to think about.

True, it would be weird at first to have the house so quiet, but that’s exactly what you need for you and John to just talk to one another about anything and everything you’ve missed over the past few weeks. After all, he’d probably have been so busy with work he feels like he’s hardly seen you recently.

He’s also remarkably in-tune with you and knows exactly how to spoil you rotten.

“You do so much for me and the kids, it’s the least I can do, right? You deserve the world, but I guess I’ll have to do, eh?”

Who knew John Shelby was such a softie?

He’d have the day mapped out down to the finest detail: Breakfast in bed? check. A hot bath with wine and candles? Check. That new dress you had your eye on when you last went into town? Check. Making love for hours on every surface of the house? Triple check.

He knows how lucky he is to have you and would spend all day making sure you knew.

“At this rate, we’ll be having another little one to be bribe Polly to watch next year.”

“John Shelby! I swear to god I am not having another baby-“

“So you want me to put my clothes back on and not fuck you again?”

You wisely say nothing and kiss him instead.

“As I thought.”

Tommy:

Considering how busy he normally is, the only gift you could ever want from him was that of time. Time away from the stresses of the company or his family and their never ending messes.

It’s why you’re eager to subtly remind him about the date every chance you get in the weeks preceding it.

Little do you know, he’s perfectly aware of the day. In fact, he has plans of his own cooked up for the both of you… you just didn’t need to know that yet.

It makes the surprise all the more satisfying as he wakes you early the morning of, peppering you with kisses and encouraging you to get dressed.

“I thought people usually tried to get people undressed on Valentines day?”

“Patience, love. It’s worth it, I promise.”

You laugh and trust him, unable to deny him anything when he looks genuinely happy for once. That in itself is a gift, as is the chance to spend the day riding with him around the estate you called home.

Tommy is happiest on horse back, and you grin as you eye him clambering on his horse out front.

You’re quick to follow, not surprised to see he’d had your horse readied too. He really had thought this out, down to the route you take.

“This way, there are no phone calls or fucking distractions,” he explains, relieved at the utter delight in your eyes. “Not unless one of the staff want to grab a horse and come find us. Good luck to them.”

“They’d need it, especially if they’re stupid enough to risk me shooting them for disturbing us. They’d be idiots.”

Tommy laughs.

Eventually, he’d stop you both, just on the edge of the woods, revealing the next surprise as he pulls out a blanket and basket (prepared with Frances’s help, of course).

“A picnic, Tommy?”

“I told you it was a surprise.”

It’s the best surprise as you both sit there, drinking and laughing as the sky turns dark.

That’s when he lights a fire for you both, letting you huddle close by the flames, eyes gazing at the stars above you.

You listen to him telling you all about the constellations and the stories he learned as a child. The sound of his voice is heavenly and you could easily listen to him all night.

So much so, you’re quick to wish the night would never end, letting you two stay like this, wrapped peacefully in each other’s arms forever.

Finn:

This literal angel is sweet as hell. Like, you better be prepared for the hand made card he’ll have made you… with Polly’s help, of course. He isn’t a hundred percent sure his spelling would have been right otherwise, but for you he’s willing to make the effort to try and write it for you. After all, you’ve more than likely been trying to help him learn to read and write since you started seeing one another.

“Aunt Pol… is heart spelt with two t’s or one?”

“One, Finn.”

“And does angel have a j in it?”

“No, Finn.”

Everyone else thought it was adorable and proof that he truly does love you. They’ve never seen him work so hard on anything in his life.

Your own card is much simpler, because you wanted to make sure he could read it without too much difficulty. You also may or may not have got a bit carried away with drawing hearts and other sketches to fill it instead of trying to use long and complicated words about how much you loved him.

However, neither one of you seem to care. You’re too happy with the cards you receive to care about your own possible mistakes.

You’re also too busy admiring how much of an effort each of you made with your outfits for your date. Sure, it was just drinks and dancing with some of the other teenagers in Small Heath (basically Isiah and his girl) but you’d both gone full out for the occasion.

“Is that suit new?”

“Maybe… John helped me pick it out. Why? Does it look stupid?”

“No, Finn Shelby. You look incredibly handsome,” you beam, toying with his lapels before linking his hand with yours. “I’ll be the luckiest girl there tonight.”

“And I’ll be the luckiest man.”

Oh yeah, you two are reals saps, just as most young lovers are. You’re all nervous glances, laughs and touches as you two dance the night away.

It would also be the night Finn kisses you for the first night, summoning the courage to do it as he drops you off back at your house, just a little after curfew.

It’s worth the risk and as you kiss him back he swears he’s flying the rest of the way home.

Micheal:

Micheal has had his plans in place for weeks, making sure every little detail would be perfect for the two of you. He’s honestly looking forward to it, enough to welcome his mother’s advice as she throws suggestions and tips at him the week before.

“Women like to feel special, Micheal. What about getting her a necklace? Or some chocolates? Fancy ones from France or something.”

“Mum, thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Micheal laughs and tries not to be offended at her obvious doubt. Then again, he’s not always had a track record of being the most romantic or thoughtful with women. Still, he really cares about you and he’s determined not to mess this up.

It’s why he’s chosen the perfect place for you two to spend the evening together: your place.

He’s determined to spend the time just the two of you, and what better way to impress you than cooking dinner for you?

With the bottle of champagne he brought and your favourite records playing in the background, you’re quickly at ease, grinning as you watch him effortlessly chop, dice and season the dish he’s chosen.

How is peeling a potato so sexy when he does it?

It’s honestly impressive, but also because he’s putting so much effort into it which is a nice surprise. As is the way he dances around the kitchen with you whenever there’s a pause in the recipe or a particularly good song comes on.

You’re surprised at his soft singing voice as he holds you, humming along. It’s rare he allows himself to be seen in such a way, relaxed with no one to judge him for being soft or a little off key. In front of the other Shelbys he’s normally desperate to impress them, trying to be tough and nonchalant.

However, you know deep down he’s still the country boy you fell in love with when he first arrived in the city.

By the time you’ve finished dinner, the candles have almost burned out and you know where the evening is headed as you both start to scurry off to your bedroom.

Ada:

Ada is probably the most relaxed of all the Shelby bunch when it comes to special occasions. This is Ada we’re talking about. She’s also probably the most sane of the bunch, so she knows how to act like a normal person.

She doesn’t need anything big or fancy as a gift or some elaborate plan to make her fall head over heels.

A day in the park, with Karl holding both your hands as you walk to the duck pond, is enough to make her look at you with utter adoration in her eyes. She loves how well you both get on, becoming a little family of you own.

It’s why it’s no surprise you all have dinner together, with Karl helping to serve you as your two favourite people spoil you rotten. You normally eat together most days, even if Karl doesn’t normally wear a suit or call you ‘madame’ every time he passes you something like a mini waiter.

Ada smirks at the sight, informing you it’s all Karl’s idea - as is the card he thrusts upon you.

“I made the card myself!”

“You did? Wow, Karl. Look how amazing it is. I love the glitter on the heart.”

“I knew you would. Mum didn’t think so but I won.”

The look Ada gives you makes you want to laugh until you cry as you clearly sense the frustration she must have suffered in the pursuit of Karl’s artistry. It also explains why you’ve been finding glitter everywhere all week.

“Well, I love it. Thank you - both.”

You press kisses to both of their cheeks, grinning as Ada purred something about giving you her card later once Karl’s in bed. You’re eager to return the favour, impatient to give her your own card and gift.

It’s a framed photo of you all, taken one day when you’d all been at the local fair.

The sight of it is enough to make Ada watery eyed as she gives you yours, watching as you unwrap it and gasp in delight.

The book is the next in a series you’d recently started and fallen in love with. However, you were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be released yet.

“What can I say? Perks of having a librarian girlfriend with exclusive access to advanced copies we’re supposed to be holding on to until next month. I borrowed one and I’m sure they won’t notice.”

“Ada Shelby. You stole a book for me?”

“Borrowed. Not stole.”

You don’t care, too overwhelmed to do anything other than kiss her passionately.

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aidanchaser · 3 years

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Chapter 19: The Fox and the Hare

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU Chapter 19 The Fox and the Hare

Remus pulled his cloak closed around his throat as he fought the stiff winds that pushed their way through London. His bones ached enough after the full moon without stepping out into a bracing winter, but he ignored the protest in his joints. Not only did he want the details about what had happened to James, he was eager to see Tonks.

He had only seen his wife once since his abrupt departure back in August. The guilt for leaving her in the first place still ached if he reflected on it for too long. He knew that James and Lily were right. Tonks needed him, and he needed to be with her. If he, James, and Lily had not been caught leaving the Longbottoms’ estate, he probably would have gone straight back to Tonks. But James’ capture had changed everything.

They had lost James and Harry in a day, and though they trusted that Harry was safe, it was not the same as knowing that Harry was safe. Lily and Remus had spent most of their days scouring every scrap of newspaper they could get their hands on for any clues or sightings. The phrase, “no news is good news,” was repeated often, and though they believed it when it came to Harry, each day without news of James seemed to wear away a little more of each of them.

It wasn’t until they were finally able to connect with Sirius that Remus had felt comfortable leaving Lily for a few days and risking a return to Tonks’ house to apologise.

He had known he would be lucky if Tonks accepted his apology. Though he was still afraid of all the things he had been afraid of when he had left, he understood now that his fears were something they had to share.

Remus was not used to sharing the weight of his burdens with others. It was something none of his friends were particularly good at, but he and Lily had been forced to practice it these last few months. If they had not shared their anxiety over James and Harry with each other, they might have torn each other apart.

Though Remus did not think he deserved to be forgiven, Tonks had welcomed him back with an astonishing grace. Remus wished he had shown the same grace to Sirius, when he had betrayed him to Snape during their years at Hogwarts, or that they had shown each other the same grace with each other after the truth of Peter’s betrayal had been revealed. There was no knowing what they might have gained in the last fifteen years if only they had learned to forgive themselves and each other with half the ease that Tonks did.

Unfortunately, Remus and Tonks had not had much time together during his visit. Not only were Death Eaters watching her parents’ house vigilantly, the Muggle-born Registration Commission visited frequently to make sure that Ted Tonks was not hiding nearby. Remus may not have been Muggle-born, but blood-purists weren’t any more fond of what he was, and the Ministry was almost as desperate for his head as they were Harry’s.

So he and Tonks had filled their few days with as much as they could. His admission of guilt and his apology were all he really had the emotional fortitude for, but there was so much more for them to take care of beyond their reconciliation.

Once Tonks had assured him that he was forgiven, she had immediately begun planning ways to stay in touch. She was the one who had suggested they use the Times and had given Remus and Sirius their code names.

“We can’t use Moony,” she had said, “since too many people you went to school with are Death Eaters. Sirius can be the Black Sheep. He’ll think it’s funny. I’ll be the White Rabbit, and you can be… the Silver Fox!”

Remus had blushed and become suddenly self-conscious of his greying hair, but he hadn’t argued with her. A fox was better than a wolf. “What about Lily?” he had asked.

She had taken a bit longer to come up with a code name for Lily, but she had eventually suggested Red Hind. So when he had seen a classified ad in the Times from a White Rabbit claiming to have news about a Red Hart, he had known instantly that it meant James. He only hoped no one else had recognised the message and decoded the meeting time and place.

The other crucial thing he and Tonks had discussed the last time they had seen each other was her pregnancy. There was still every possibility that their child could be a werewolf — though Remus prayed to God, Merlin, and whatever else might hear him that it would not be — so they had to make sure Tonks had the right sort of care.

“I talked to my friend Penny,” Tonks had said.

Remus had looked up at her from his seat on the floor beside her bed. “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t name you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Tonks had slid off the bed and sat down beside him. “She recommended a Healer to me. I know Mum said I ought to find a midwife, but I thought — you know, just in case — it would be best to have a Healer.”

Though they had not done much but talk for two days, Remus’ well of emotions had been thoroughly drained, and he had not had it in him to do much more than hum in agreement.

Remus was still trying to wrap his head around being a father. On good days, he was a little excited. He had helped raise Harry, after all, and he had the benefit of James and Lily’s experience. But there were still days that his guilt and fear overwhelmed him, and he wondered why he had ever dared to fall in love with someone in the first place.

Today was not one of his dark days. Today, he was excited to see Tonks, to hear how she was doing, and to know what she had learned about James.

A short walk from the rundown brick building, whose worn name labeled it “Purge and Dowse, Ltd.,” rested a copse of trees that guarded a steep drop in the ground before leveling out into someone’s residence. Remus slipped down the frost-hardened embankment until he was no longer in view of the street. He looked around for Tonks but a crack startled him, and he pulled his wand from his cloak.

She was behind him suddenly, and it took all of Remus’ mental fortitude not to curse her immediately as she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Though Remus did not want to pull away, he remained practical. “Dora — stop — One of these days it won’t be you and I’ll end up dead for hesitating.”

She pouted, as she always did when he pulled away from a kiss too early, and wrinkled her nose until it was almost entirely absorbed by her face, then grew it back out. “Good enough?” she asked.

“And if I’m not me?”

She shrugged.

“You shouldn’t be Apparating, you know.”

“See? That’s something only the real Remus would say.”

“Andromeda would say it too.” Remus held her at arm’s length for a moment and looked her over. It was hard to make out any details about her figure beneath the cloak, but he thought she looked well. She was a bit flushed, but seemed happy, all things considered.

“You are alright?” he asked.

“Of course.” She started up the embankment. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Remus hurried after her. “Late for what? I thought you had news about James.”

“Not here in the open.” Tonks grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the condemned shopping centre across the street.

It took everything Remus had not to dig his heels in and throw a tantrum like a toddler. Not only was he impatient for her news, he had no interest in entering that building unless it was a life or death situation.

“Wait —” he said.

But Tonks wasn’t paying attention to him. She led him around the corner to a window decorated with a set of shabby mannequins, half-dressed and faded by sun. She whispered something into the glass, then finally turned and looked at Remus.

“Oh,” she said. “We’d better do something about your face. May I?”

Remus was worried about being recognised, certainly, but that wasn’t his main source of fear. He didn’t know how to explain the anxiety that crawled up his throat to Tonks, though, so he nodded dumbly.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “It’s harder on others, but McGonagall always said I had a knack for it.”

As Tonks pressed her wand against his cheek, Remus felt the sharp, gaunt lines of his face fill in and soften. He could see the edges of his hair darken. He imagined she was getting rid of his most noticeable feature as well: his scars.

Once she was satisfied, she pulled him through the glass window.

Unlike the last time Remus had visited, in the dead of the night after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, the lobby of St Mungo’s was full. People crowded around on all sides and made a cacophony of unfortunate noises — retching, shrieking, singing off-key — but Tonks ignored the chaos and pulled Remus into the line behind the reception desk.

He squeezed her hand and focused his attention on exactly two sensations: steady breathing and her fingers laced through his.

Remus had been to St Mungo’s exactly three times as an adult. Once, when Harry had fallen into a Bearded Bramble and had developed a rash that was beyond his skill to treat, then years later when Arthur Weasley had nearly been killed on duty for the Order, and finally two summers ago, when Voldemort had attacked the Ministry, and James, Lily, and Dora had all nearly died.

Each time, Remus had been here at St Mungo’s because someone he cared about was in danger. It was easier to manage his anxiety about St Mungo’s if there was a larger, more pressing anxiety consuming him first, and if he wasn’t the one submitting himself to a Healer’s care.

He reminded himself that, in all likelihood, they were not here for him. Tonks had even obscured his face. There was no way for anyone they spoke with to know who he was, or worse, what he was.

When they reached the desk of the Welcome Witch, Tonks told her that they had an appointment.

“Name?” the Welcome Witch asked.

“Black.” Tonks said without hesitation.

The witch directed them to wait, and Tonks pulled him into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs along the wall. Remus wondered if perhaps the conversation with the Welcome Witch had not been about an appointment at all. Perhaps it was another coded message. Had the Welcome Witch been the one to tell Tonks about James?

He took a moment to wet his lips before asking, “Is James here?”

Tonks shook her head. “We’ll talk where no one’s around,” she whispered. “Where could be more protected than a Healer’s office?”

He wanted to ask if they really needed to be here, if he could not just take her to Lily, but before he could find the words, a young man in green robes stepped out of the lift, glanced at the clipboard in his hand, and announced, “Nymphadora Black.”

Though none of those names were ones that Tonks liked for herself, she jumped to her feet and tugged Remus with her. As the young man pushed the button for the first floor, a high-pitched whine began to rise in Remus’ ears. When the lift doors opened only a moment later, Tonks pulled him forward again. But this time, he didn’t follow. Remus’ feet were stuck to the floor as surely as if he’d been hit with one of Sirius’ Permanent Sticking Charms.

“Remus?” she asked.

His mouth was dry. He wanted to remind her that she shouldn’t use his real name, but the words didn’t come. He wanted to tell her he would wait outside, and he would be there for her after this was over, no matter what, but those words didn’t come, either.

With an incredible force of will, he stumbled out of the lift.

The first floor itself had not changed since he had been here with the Weasleys during Arthur’s stay, and it had not changed since he was a boy. The smell of alcohol and antiseptic made him dizzy, and the dark paneling seemed to disappear at the edges of his vision, giving him the strange impression that the walls were disappearing as they passed — along with their exit. It was all he could do to stumble after Tonks and the Healer.

The walk was longer than any Remus had taken down this hall, he was sure of it. They passed ward after ward until, finally, the young man opened a door and led them into a private office. Remus could not focus enough to read the name on the door, but through the high-pitched whine in his ears, he did make out the young man’s words.

“The Healer will be with you in a moment, Ms Black,” he said.

The office was small and sparsely decorated. Most of the space was taken up by the desk at the center and a pair of chairs opposite. The only real personalisation to the room was a photograph of a sunrise hanging next to the window. The sunlight glittered on the surface of a lake as the photograph moved, but the sun remained on the horizon in permanent dawn.

Bookshelves lined the other walls, and Remus was able to recognise a few of the texts from Sirius’ collection, though Sirius would never have kept his books organised so neatly. Even though Remus was not familiar with much of Healing magic, he could tell that the shelves were organised into sections on anatomy, Charms, and, he noted glumly, an entire three shelves devoted to dangerous Creatures. There was more than one text on werewolves.

“Remus, sit,” Tonks said. “You look like you’re about to faint. I’m not giving birth yet.”

Remus fell into one of the chairs and forced himself to look at her.

He had been so excited to see her, and now he wanted nothing more than to run. He struggled to bring his thoughts into line, into any reasonable order so that he might explain himself. He tried to remember why they were here.

She crouched beside his chair and put a hand on his wrist. “Did I accidentally make you look that peaky or is something wrong? Remus?”

His tongue felt like lead, but he remembered, distantly, why they had needed a private office. “What did you learn about James?”

Worry creased her brow, which was an unusual look for Dora. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb and though she could not know how much it helped, he allowed the gentle touch to ground him.

“He’s definitely alive,” she said. “Cedric Diggory stopped by after one of the M.R.C.’s absurd little raids. Mum’s about ready to put traps in the cupboards, she’s so tired of them tearing up her pantry.”

Usually, Remus was fond of Tonks’ wandering stories. She included details about people that made him laugh or that simply showed that she cared. At this moment, however, he could only process so much information.

“What did Diggory say?” he asked.

“Some Snatchers brought James in two nights ago.”

“Snatchers? Why — how?”

Tonks shrugged. “Still working it out, but we — oh!” She abandoned his hand and pressed her palm against her stomach. Her face turned from worried to silly in an instant.

“The baby started kicking a couple weeks ago. Here,” she grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly.

Remus had been looking for changes in Tonks’ body, but they were far too subtle to observe beneath her robes. Now that he was touching her, he could feel the new curve of her stomach. She wasn’t much bigger, just fuller, but Sirius and Lily had both told him that the obvious growth would probably come soon. Remus just hoped he would be around to see it.

Then, beneath her stomach, something moved, pressing against his hand. Remus pulled away.

Tonks laughed. “It’s alright.” She reached for his hand again.

But it wasn’t alright. Panic thrummed in Remus’ every muscle and bone, and the only thing that kept him from leaping out of his chair and pacing the room was Tonks’ hand around his wrist.

The day had started out so pleasant. He had been so happy to see her, and so excited to finally have a lead on James. Now he was sitting in an office in St Mungo’s on the floor for Creature-Induced Injuries, facing down memories of some of the worst moments of his childhood and every possibility that the same future awaited his own child.

“Remus.” Her joy was gone. Instead, her voice was firm but gentle. It was the same voice she had had at the kitchen table when she had asked him to go on this journey with her. “Hey, look at me, please?”

He did. She bit down on her lower lip, pulling her worried frown into something closer to a pout. Her cheekbones were sharp today, and her eyes grey. She looked more like her mother than her father. She looked more like Sirius. He might have wondered if she did it on purpose, but the last time he had seen her, she had chosen the same round face she’d worn when she met him, the face she’d had when she’d married him. Both of those faces were Tonks, just as both his joy and fear were truly him.

They both flinched as something — the baby — their baby — kicked against his hand.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

He appreciated the way she had phrased the question. It did not give him room to lie, at least not in the ways he was used to.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

The door behind them creaked, and every piece of tranquility that Remus had managed to cling to evaporated as the Healer walked in. At least Tonks did not let go of his hand, even as she stood.

The Healer had short, grey hair, and she wore a lime-green smock. Remus struggled to guess her age. She did not look old, exactly, but she looked worn in a way that suggested her experience outstripped her years. It was a feeling Remus was familiar with. She had a pale but pleasant smile as she looked first at Remus, then at Tonks.

“It is you,” she said. “I wondered how many Nymphadoras there were out there.”

Tonks wrinkled her nose. “Only the one, which I expect is best for everyone.”

“I take it this isn’t a social visit, or you wouldn’t have made an appointment? I don’t get many appointments. Most people don’t plan on any of the injuries they get working with Creatures.”

The Healer removed her smock and used her wand to drape it on a hook by the door. She took a seat at her desk and eyed Remus curiously. “Are you the source of Tonks’ name change?” she asked.

“Oh — er —”

Tonks saved him. “Yes and no.” She sat in the empty chair with a bit more care than usual, and Remus wished he’d had the foresight to help her. “We are married,” she said, “but I thought it’d be best to use my mother’s maiden name.”

Remus thought that was an unusually prescient decision for Tonks to make and wondered if Andromeda had suggested it. He noticed, too, how she had not bothered to introduce him to the Healer. “Tonks” and “Lupin” were equally undesirable names at the moment.

The Healer’s smile was sad, like she sympathised with Tonks’ decision. “It’s certainly… unfortunate times.” She fidgeted with an opalescent pendant at her neck. “You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Oh!” Tonks sat up straighter. “Penny said you could help us. We’re having a baby.”

The Healer blinked at them. “I’m not a midwife. I can help you find one, if you like, but I work with injuries from Creatures. I deal with venoms, broken bones, and bites.”

Remus was proud of himself for not flinching when she said “bites,” but he did squeeze Tonks’ hand a bit more tightly.

“I know,” Tonks said, “but we have sort of… a unique situation.” She looked to Remus for help, but he did not know how to help her. He knew what she wanted him to say, but he could not give it. He could not out himself to a Healer.

Tonks bit down on her lower lip. “It’s just something we want to be sure about, and if the baby is, er — cursed — we want to make sure that we have everything we need. Penny said we could trust you.”

Though Tonks was looking at Remus as she said it, the Healer’s hands stopped fidgeting with her necklace. Her pleasant voice turned guarded. “What else did Penny say about me?”

“Only that you’d help us,” Tonks assured her.

Remus could see Tonks struggling to build an argument that convinced this Healer they would need her without telling her what Remus was, and as much as Remus wanted to keep his identity from this woman, he did not see any other way to get what Tonks needed.

But knowing that he needed to tell this woman the truth, for the sake of Tonks and their child, was so far removed from being able to do it. He had spent three decades doing everything he could to hide the truth about himself from others, especially from someone like this woman in front of him, who had every legal authority to confine him. He did not have the courage to tell her the truth.

But, really, what secret was left to keep? His face was printed in every issue of the Daily Prophet with a very clear warning about what he was printed beneath his picture.

Remus sank down into his chair and did his best to make himself appear small and nonthreatening, and though drawing attention to himself was the very last thing he wanted to do, he said, “I —” The words caught in his throat as the Healer looked at him. He swallowed and started over. “I don’t think Tonks introduced us.”

The Healer looked at him warily. “No, she didn’t.”

Instinctively, Remus reviewed in his mind the distance from his chair to the door in her office, and weighed his speed against how fast she could draw her wand. It had not been long since his last transformation and parts of him still ached. He did not like his chances.

Tonks squeezed his hand again.

“I’m her husband — Remus Lupin.”

A new anxiety filled Remus, purely because he had no idea how to interpret the Healer’s response. Her stiff posture visibly relaxed and she even smiled a little. It did not fit with anything he had encountered before. Fear, anger, suspicion — even pity — were responses he was familiar with. This was entirely unprecedented.

“You look different from your picture in the Prophet,” she said.

“That’s my handiwork,” said Tonks.

The Healer tugged on her necklace pendant as she eyed Remus, and Remus searched for a more comfortable sitting position, even though he knew it wasn’t his physical position that was uncomfortable.

Finally, she pursed her lips and said, “I think I understand why Penny suggested that you ask for my help,” the Healer said. “And I understand why you were so afraid to ask. But Penny was right: you can trust me.”

They spent the rest of the meeting discussing Tonks’ health and pregnancy. The Healer, as she had said, was not a midwife, and had to consult a few of her books throughout the meeting. She never reached for her books on werewolves, though they touched on the possibility. The Healer was confident there was no recorded case of birth complications because of lycanthropy, but she admitted she didn’t know if that was because it had never happened or it had just never been written about. More impressive to Remus than her knowledge of lycanthropy was the care she spoke with. Remus had never had a pleasant interaction with a Healer who had known what he was. Until today.

They set dates for Tonks to check in with the Healer, and though Remus might not be able to be present for all of them, simply knowing the plan helped. He knew, too, that if they had simply found a midwife and left lycanthropy out of it, his anxiety would have remained wild and untameable. Having a Healer who understood them allowed Remus to manage his fears in a way he was entirely unprepared for. He had never met Tonks’ friend Penny, but he thought about sending her a very grateful letter, and wondered if he shouldn’t meet more of Tonks’ friends from school. Tonks had integrated into his pack easily enough, and maybe he shouldn’t be so terrified of getting to know hers.

As the meeting came to a close, the Healer stood to escort them out.

“Oh —” Tonks did not stand, even as Remus started to get up. “Could Remus and I have a moment, just us?”

“Of course.” The Healer held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lupin.”

Remus shook her hand, and it wasn’t until she was gone that he realised he had not gotten her name.

“Are you alright?” Tonks asked.

He nodded, and was a bit surprised to find that it was actually true.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really thought we could get through that without telling her everything, at least not right away. Maybe I should have come alone, but I just wanted you to be with me for as much of this as you can.”

“I understand.” He ran his hand over his mouth and tried, desperately to put the truth in his words. His instinct was to tell her that it was alright, and everything had worked out, so what point was there in talking about what had gone wrong? But Sirius’ admonishments about lying echoed in his memory. He had to be truthful with Tonks, who did not know him the way Sirius did, and never would if he did not let her.

“I just wish you had explained before,” he said. “I don’t… care much for hospitals. It would have helped to be prepared, to know who we were meeting and why.”

An apology rose in her face, but she bit it back. She let his words hang in the space between them, and he could tell she was wrestling with patience as much as he was wrestling with honesty.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I am sorry — I’ll pay more attention. I’ll communicate better and try to at least talk through my impulses before I drag you into them.”

“Thank you.” Remus looked down at his hands and twisted the plain gold wedding band on his finger. He still had not figured out what Charm James had put into it.

“You never finished telling me your news about James,” he said.

“That’s why I asked for some privacy, so I could tell you, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

He nodded. “I am, truly. Tell me what Cedric said. You said Snatchers were involved?”

“Yeah, that’s weird, right? I don’t know how James ended up with Snatchers, but they took him to the Ministry and he’s in Azkaban now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Thelborne got confirmation of James’ arrest and safe transfer to Azkaban. The Ministry hasn’t made James’ arrest public yet, but Cedric thinks they will soon. He said that it’ll be the best way for them to get Harry.”

Remus’ stomach dropped and the temporary peace he had found withered away. “I guess we should pray that Sirius finds Harry first.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow. “You think Sirius won’t also show up and make a scene?”

He tightened his jaw. “I’m going to make sure that he doesn’t. We’ll find a way to get James back, but we won’t do it by walking into a trap.”

She reached out and took his hand. He could tell from the careful way she traced the lines in his palm that she was preparing to say something difficult. He wondered if it was difficult to say, or just difficult to hear. Perhaps it was both.

“I’m going to say some things about Sirius,” she finally said, “and I do have questions I want you to answer, but you don’t have to answer all of them, or any of them, I guess, if you aren’t ready, okay? Is that… enough preparing you before I jump into something?”

Remus felt his throat tighten, but he appreciated her attempt at delicacy. He nodded.

“Did Sirius talk to you before you left back in August?”

Guilt flared. It was tempered by the fact that he was here now, that he had sat through a very difficult meeting for her sake. Knowing that helped him find his words again. “A little. He mostly admonished me for being a coward.”

“That’s not what I told him to say.” She frowned down at Remus’ hand. “You know he still loves you, right?”

“I chose you,” but even as Remus said it, he heard the denial. Sirius had called him a liar, not just because he lied to his friends but because he lied to himself.

“Why?” she asked.

It had been one year ago, almost exactly, that Sirius had pulled a very similar conversation out of Remus. Sirius had forced Remus to talk through his feelings, for both Tonks and Sirius, and had then denied Remus his choice. Sirius had all but insisted that Remus choose Tonks. Remus did not think he had made the wrong choice — though he had certainly doubted himself in those first few weeks after learning about her pregnancy — but he wondered why Tonks was bringing it up now. He did not think saying, “Sirius told me to choose you,” was the assurance that she wanted.

“Because I love you,” he said.

“But you also love Sirius,” she said. And it wasn’t a question.

He swallowed. “I do.”

The wedding band that James had given him grew warm, suddenly. It was not uncomfortable, but he pulled it from his finger anyway, and his heart broke.

Glowing script on the outside of the band read, “Moony & Dora,” and on the inside were the words, “Mischief Managed.”

How unfair, for him to solve James’ silly riddle and discover Sirius’ gift in an admission of love not to his wife, not to the person and bond that this ring symbolised, but to someone else entirely.

Dora’s hands closed around his, hiding the words from view and forcing him to look at her ring finger, decorated in two bands — his mother’s ring and the band that matched his.

“I’m not mad, Remus. I’m not jealous or upset, okay? I love you, and I know, with absolute certainty, that you love me. You’ve shown it in a hundred different ways, some precious and some obnoxious, but I know that you truly love me. And I know it’s been a lot of hard work for you to understand that I love you. I can imagine that it took a lot of hard work to understand Sirius’ love, too. That’s what I really wanted to say, that you’re allowed to have everything, Remus. You really are.”

Remus struggled to put meaning to her words. He understood them, of course, but to truly know what she meant was a hurdle he wasn’t sure he was ready to climb just yet.

“Christmas is just a week away,” she said, “and I think if Mum doesn’t get to see Sirius and Regulus, she’ll lose her mind, so take a week to think it over, to figure out what you want — you know — to prepare yourself, and then we’ll talk it over again.”

Remus was not sure a week would be enough time, but he was glad to have a different conversation topic. “How are we supposed to see you on Christmas? I’m sure the watch on your home will be doubled.”

“We’ll come to you. Mum and I can Apparate to wherever you are. If we’re lucky, we’ll get snowed in and won’t be able to leave you.”

She smiled, but he could not bring himself to match her joy. There might be joy in him somewhere, but it was buried under so much fear, guilt, and anxiety.

“You shouldn’t be Apparating at all,” he finally said, and she kissed his cheek.

Their goodbye was always going to be a bit melancholy — there was never any guarantee they would see each other again — but it was much more subdued than Remus would have liked. He did insist on Apparating Tonks home, to make sure she didn’t Splinch herself or the baby still growing inside of her, before Apparating back to the place he, Sirius, Lily, and Regulus had been hiding out in since the last full moon.

The winds were stronger out in the countryside, and the cold sharper. Remus shivered and hurried through the protective barriers around their hidden camp and into the safety of the Potters’ tent.

Warmth and the smell of freshly brewed tea hit him immediately. He heard Sirius’ voice, and his heart rate doubled with both the joy of knowing Sirius was home safe, and the anxiety left by Tonks’ parting advice.

Then, he heard an unexpected voice, and his anxiety vanished instantly, replaced with all-consuming wonder and joy. Though he was nearly dizzy with happiness, Remus ran from the small entrance to the curtained-off kitchen. He barely had time to take in the dark messy hair and thick glasses before Harry was in his arms.

Remus held him tightly, unsure that this moment was real. He wondered, briefly, if this entire day had been a dream. Had he really met Tonks? Met a Healer who had been kind, knowing what he was? Had his wife really suggested it was alright for him to still love Sirius? Was Harry really, truly here? Was he safe?

He opened his eyes and looked at Sirius and Lily, still seated at the table with patient smiles. Surely they had been just as overwhelmed to see Harry.

“Where?” he mouthed to Sirius.

When he finally could let Harry go without being afraid that Harry would disappear before his eyes, Sirius told him how he and Regulus had finally found Harry at Privet Drive.

Lily handed Remus a cup of tea. “They came back as soon as Sirius found Tonks’ message in the Times today. Which, speaking of, what did you find out?” Her eagerness for news of James was so thinly restrained that Remus hurriedly shared what Tonks had told him about James, how he had been taken to the Ministry by Snatchers.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry said. “Why would Vol —”

“No!” Remus and Sirius shouted at once as Lily also said, “Harry, don’t —”

Harry tensed, startled by their sudden outburst. “What?”

Lily’s voice shook as she explained. “The Ministry has put a Taboo on the name. Anyone who uses it will immediately draw the attention of Snatchers.”

“It’s probably the most intelligent thing they’ve done to track down the Order and other supporters of Dumbledore,” Sirius added. “Those most likely to use You-Know-Who’s name are those most likely to be fighting against the Ministry.”

“It’s how we nearly got caught in Godric’s Hollow,” said Remus. “They nearly got Mad-Eye last month, too.”

Harry frowned, but did not argue. “Okay, fine, but I still don’t understand why Vol — er — You-Know-Who would change his plans for Dad now. Why keep him prisoner and suddenly hand him off to Snatchers after almost four months?”

Remus had been mulling this over, too, in-between thoughts about Tonks and Sirius, and he didn’t like any of the answers he had come up with.

“Maybe,” Sirius suggested, “James escaped, and was recaptured by Snatchers before he could find us.”

“I doubt it,” Remus said quietly.

“You’re the one who said no prison could hold Prongs,” Harry said.

Lily’s green eyes were unusually cold as they evaluated Remus. “You think it’s a trap.”

Tonks and Cedric certainly seemed to think so, and Remus was inclined to agree with them. “If the Ministry announces that they’ve arrested James,” Remus said, “and if they publish a date for a trial, we have to let it happen.”

He was met with shouts of protest from everyone at the table.

“I know that’s not the news we want,” he said over them, “but the most likely explanation for why James has been moved from the Death Eaters to the Ministry is to use him against us.”

“What if we raided Azkaban instead?” Lily suggested.

Sirius shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t break someone out of Azkaban.”

“Why not?” asked Harry. “Regulus broke out of Azkaban.”

“Regulus is a cat! I know James and I can change our form too, but you think they haven’t added protections against Animagi since that’s how both Barty and Reg escaped? You think you can just waltz right in and find James amongst thousands of cells? Even the Death Eaters that broke out two years ago had the help of the Dementors. We’ll just have to be ready to take James at the trial, even if it is a trap.”

“Where is Regulus?” asked Remus. He wanted assistance from someone else willing to look at the situation practically.

“Said he had to run an errand.” Sirius looked at Harry, like Harry might know more about it, but Harry only shrugged.

“He hasn’t told me any more than he’s told you,” said Harry, but Harry lied the way James did, which was to say he lied incredibly poorly.

Lily drummed her fingers against her mug. “I still think I could do it.”

Remus sighed and shook his head. “As strong as you’ve gotten without the use of your wand, Sirius is right. We can’t take on Azkaban. And I’m right — we can’t get James at the Ministry. You know he’ll be furious if we lose even one person trying to save him.”

“We can’t do nothing,” Harry said.

“You’re not coming no matter what we do,” Lily said. Before Harry could argue, she said, “I’ve only just got you back from Merlin knows where, and I’m not about to let you run off again.”

“I’m not going to run off! I want to help Dad!”

Remus finished his tea while Lily, Sirius, and Harry argued. He was exhausted from the extreme highs and lows of his day, and did not have the patience to carefully talk his impulsive friends down from their half-baked plans. There was no sense in raiding Azkaban or the Ministry. They would lose, and if the Ministry got a hold of Harry, Voldemort would kill him, and that would be the end of everything.

While Sirius tried to outline a plan that involved impersonating Hit Wizards, Remus left the table and washed his cup. He listened half-heartedly as Lily pointed out, rightly, that it would be impossible to know which Hit Wizards to impersonate. Harry suggested that if he could get his hands on a broom, he could fly in and out of Azkaban, and Sirius had to explain why the wards around the prison made that impossible.

Remus abandoned the kitchen in favour of peace and quiet. He retreated to the bunk that he had been using these last few months. There were three bedrooms in the tent, and Remus supposed he would have to share this bunk with Harry from now on. He didn’t mind. He thought that might even make it easier to keep Harry from running off again.

Remus trusted Dumbledore — Dumbledore had saved his life in a multitude of ways — but whatever Dumbledore had left for Harry terrified Remus. Dumbledore so rarely left instructions without explanations. Even the prophecy had been kept secret for a reason. There was no reason, as far as he could fathom, why Dumbledore would ask Harry to keep a task secret from James and Lily.

Remus was usually the first person to suggest that Harry should make his own choices, but the weight of the world was a burden no one person should bear. Harry said that he had his friends, but it was obvious that Ron and Hermione weren’t here. If they were in danger, the conversation at the table would surely have gone differently. But wherever they were, they weren’t with Harry, and that worried Remus. He was not going to let Harry do this alone, anymore than he was going to let Lily storm Azkaban alone or let Sirius walk right into a trap set by the Ministry.

Maybe he was almost ready to be a proper parent after all.

He was just about to drift off when he heard someone walk in. He was familiar with the weight of Sirius’ footsteps and wondered vaguely if, for some reason, Harry had decided to bunk with Regulus, and Sirius had been shunted off to Remus’ bunk.

“Promise me you aren’t about to tell me Lily or Harry have run off to Azkaban,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

The weight of the bedding shifted as Sirius sat down. “No, we’ve at least agreed to wait for more news, whether from the Prophet or Tonks.” Sirius paused, then asked, “How is Tonks? You didn’t say much about her.”

“I thought the information on James was more pressing.”

“Is she okay?”

“If she wasn’t, I would tell you.”

“Are you okay?”

Remus didn’t answer. Not because he wasn’t okay, exactly, but because he was not sure how to tell Sirius about his day with Tonks and assure Sirius he really was alright.

“Remus —”

“We visited a Healer,” Remus said. He did not open his eyes. He did not want to see the worry on Sirius’ face. “It was fine. She was actually… kind. She knew Tonks already and she listened to our concerns. Then we used the privacy of her office to talk about James without being overheard.”

Sirius was quiet long enough that when he finally said, “You really need a Healer other than me?”

Remus opened his eyes and was relieved to see that Sirius was grinning.

“Have you ever helped birth a child?” Remus asked with a matching smile.

“I was present when Harry was born. And I didn’t pass out like James did.”

“I didn’t get the Healer’s name, but I’m sure you’ll meet her soon.”

“I guess if you like her, I’ll trust your judgement.” Sirius stood and stretched.

“Sirius — wait —”

He did, but Remus wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from Sirius. He thought of all the effort he put into being honest with Tonks today, and wondered if he had enough strength left for this conversation.

“James said you designed the wedding rings,” he finally said, which was as close to what he wanted to talk about as he could manage.

“Everything alright with them?”

“I was just wondering how often someone really says, ‘I do,’ outside of wedding vows.”

“As often as you want to, I suppose.”

What Remus had wanted to say, the other half of that conversation with Tonks, slipped away. He appreciated Tonks’ grace and kindness, but he did not know how he could ask that same grace of Sirius. It seemed unfair.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Do you want me to change it?”

If Remus really wanted to change it, he could do it himself. He was only stalling, working up the courage to say what he needed to.

“It’s just that… Tonks said something interesting. She said that I’m allowed to have everything I want. It just sounded a lot like something you said to me last year.”

Remus could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Sirius blush. He bit down on his lip to restrain a smile as Sirius’ cheeks turned red.

“I didn’t put the idea in her head, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I just want to know if you and Tonks are… on the same page about it.”

Sirius looked away. His jaw worked as he gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

Sirius was a better liar than James and Harry, only because he had far more experience. But none of them were as practised as Remus.

If Sirius needed more time to think about it, that was alright with Remus. He had only had the last few hours to even consider the idea, and he wouldn’t mind considering it for a while longer.

The idea that Remus could have everything he wanted was a bit overwhelming. He knew that Tonks had not meant literally everything, but it was nice to imagine the possibilities of everything, of a perfectly healthy child, of James home safe, of Harry trusting them again, of the war ending —

He supposed that was the point, wasn’t it? That everyone else allowed themselves to imagine those things, so why couldn’t Remus? Why couldn’t he let himself want all of that and more?

The answer was easy enough: he was afraid. He was so afraid of disappointment that he avoided wanting altogether. He told himself that he did not want anything, that he did not deserve anything, simply because he was afraid of the moment he would find out he could not have what he wanted.

But he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. Remus wanted everything.

#remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #chiara lobosca #this one is for all the remadora fans the wolfstar fans and the hogwarts mystery fans #i see you all and love you all #hogwarts mystery is some of the best post canon content ever created btdubs #its so on point #rec me your best narratives for it before I feel compelled to write my own #dh

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Arthur Shelby Fluff Alphabet

as requested by @beautifulfigment !

Arthur is my absolute fave, and I’ve had a few requests to do the smut alphabet for him too :)))

Warnings: some mention of arthur’s issues (PTSD, alcholism) mentions of suicide attempt

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Arthur adores your laugh, the way your whole face lights up and your eyes twinkle. He especially loves it when you’re trying to hold back laughter, rocking silently with the giggles at the most inappropriate moments (normally when Tommy’s doing one of his lectures)

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He wants children. Aside from Finn, he’s the last of his siblings to have kids, even though he’s the oldest. there’s always the worry in the back of his mind, however, that he would be a terrible father, just like his own. You tell him, firmly, that that is utter bullshit, and he’d make a brilliant dad.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

He is a GANGLY man, all long limbs. So long as he’s close to you, he doesn't really mind how you cuddle. His favourite way to cuddle is with his face buried in your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

He very rarely takes you to posh nightclubs or restaurants. They’re loud and busy, and he hates feeling like everyone is staring. Instead, he’ll take you on drives through the country, spread out a picnic blanket in a field and have a proper little picnic (thank God for Aunt Pol).

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

You are his little angel.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He knew he was head over heels in love with you when you kicked some bloke in the balls in the Garrison. He was behind the bar, pouring drinks, noticing the man bothering you. Until then, he had all of these feelings for you that he couldn’t put into words. But when the man tried to grab your waist, his anger flared and he was about to shout and jump over the counter when your foot made contact. You walked away as the man fell to the floor, brushing your hair out of your face, and ordered yourself a drink. Arthur simply stood staring, mouth slightly agape. Tommy grinned. “Oi, Arthur. Get the lady her drink and invite her to the pictures,”

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He is so gentle. He knows how much damage he can cause with his bare hands, so he makes every touch as light at possible. You have to tell him off eventually, saying that you’re not made of porcelain and would very much like him to hold your waist in public, as well as other public displays of affection. He also speaks much quieter with you as opposed to his normally booming voice- it often seems as though you two are in your own personal bubble as you talk

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Arthur ALWAYS grabs your hand when you walk by him, unashamed to hold it in front of everyone. You’re his girl and he loves you, so of course, he’s gonna hold your bloody hand (fuck off John, go see to your own woman). When he starts getting angry, you tend to slip your small hand into his, and it mellows him out fairly quickly. You both have a system of squeezing one another’s hands for encouragement, reassurance or a code for ‘shall we go home?’

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

That you didn’t belong in Small Heath. It was too industrial, too dangerous, too dirty for you. You seemed to innocent for the drunks and the whorehouses and the dodgy bookies like him.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Yes. If he’s sober, he’s more likely to close up and become distant as his brain goes into overdrive; what if you leave him? what if he’s simply not good enough for him?

When he’s drunk, he’s more likely to speak up, though he doesn’t throw fists straight away, unless you’re clearly uncomfortable. More often than not, the situation defuses to him holding you proudly to his side saying (rather loudly) “That’s my girl! My YN!”

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You initiated the first kiss. he was walking you home after your second date as an official couple, and it was clear he was apprehensive about something. He eventually admitted his true feelings, how he had loved you for a long time, yet he was nervous and didn’t want to wreck it.

You cupped his cheeks in both your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You can’t wreck it, Arthur,” you had murmured. “Because I feel the same way about you,” the first kiss had been sweet, no tongue, and you stroked his cheek gently.

In general, his kisses are tender, even the chastest ones filled with passion and longing. Often, he’ll be in a rush and press hurried kisses to your cheek or forehead while you’re in the middle of getting ready.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Arthur. He’s hungover and you get him water and aspirin, before settling next to him. He grabs your waist and snuggles close, kissing you (but missing your mouth slightly) and mumbling “I bloody love you,”

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

When he asked you to marry him. It was by no means a perfect proposal, and it took him ages to pluck up the courage but seeing realisation and happiness spreading across your face as he got on one knee was worth every second of apprehension

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Arthur loves to spoil you... the only problem is he’s useless at picking stuff out, always worrying whether or not you’d like it. He often ends up getting Ada and Polly to help him pick something out, though he always makes sure he goes with them.

“What about that frock? She likes them pretty patterns,”

“Arthur, that’s a maternity gown,”

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

sky blue. It was the colour of the dress you wore on one of your first proper dates. He was speechless when he saw you, unable to believe how lucky he is

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Love, darling, my angel

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

He loves when you send him letters when he’s off for work- you never send telegrams, or use the typewriter for the notes. He keeps them in his breast pocket, and when he’s stressed, he holds the paper close to his heart, inhaling the wafts of your perfume to calm down

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Stay in bed with you, slipping in and out of sleep, All spft caresses and gentle kisses, huddled up under the blankets

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Whiskey and snow used to be his go to. But with you, he has other ways.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Anything and everything with you. He’ll ask questions, genuinely curious about all sorts, cooking, your family etc... one evening you ended up showing him how to crimp the pastry at the edge of your steak pie because he asked how you got it so pretty.

He talks about work, often glossing over the worst of it. Even with the glossing over, he feels much better, like he has someone who understands how the war and the business effect him, especially as his closest brother never seems to listen

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Laying in your arms, holding your hand... generally just being close to you makes him feel calm

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

You. You’re his girl, and he wants everyone to know it. If you tell someone to piss off, he’ll grin like mad, leaning to his brothers and saying ‘that’s my girl’.

He’s also proud of how far he’s come with you, how much more mellow he is as well

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He proposes a while after you start dating, once he is certain you’re the one. He proposes on your birthday (read this!!) and you have a quiet wedding, just close friends and family, in a quaint little church. Tommy let’s you use Arrow House for the reception, and Arthur stays sober the whole night

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ is every Shelby’s song.

But his song with you is Moonlight Serenade by glen miller (I know the dates don’t quite match up). He remembers being the last two in the garrison, slow dancing with you, your head on his chest as he swayed with you

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Once he is sure you’re the one, he knows he wants to marry you, and he wants to do it properly. Nothing arranged like John and esme, not because you’re pregnant like Tommy and Grace and Lizzie. He wants it to be because you love eachother deeply, wholly, truly.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Arthur wants a great big dozy dog who’ll just trot behind you and nearly knock him over when he comes through the door. He’d give it a human name too, like Dave. This makes you giggle like mad.

Tag list: @the-makingsofgreatness @peakyswritings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @theunderlier @soleil-dor @hiddensapphic @fckingpeakyblinders @snugleo @alittlebirds @satanxklaus @glamsaturn @thegirlwithoutaname87 @queenofmankind

#arthur shelby fluff #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x you #peaky blinders #fluff #arthur shelby headcanon #request

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 4

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer.

Don’t forget to follow the instagram account for this story (without spaces): ‘whenihaveyou . romione’

Chapter 4

It was the day Ron had been dreading more than any other. He'd been trying not to think about it, trying to distract himself as best he could. But after two weeks, he knew that he had to face it. They all did.

Saying goodbye to Fred.

The funerals had started yesterday, the first being that of Colin Creevey's. The young Gryffindor had had quite the turnout, including all of the Hogwarts staff, his friends, and even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister for Magic.

It was the mission of the Ministry to have at least some of its members attend each funeral in honour of those who had died fighting valiantly. Every person would be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, and their names would be forever etched in two monuments — one at the Ministry, the other at Hogwarts.

Ron hadn't known Colin all that well, but he'd gone to his funeral anyway, preparing himself for what was to come next. It was sad. Colin’s Muggle parents looked overwhelmed, yet honoured, by the impact their apparently average son had made in a world they weren't even familiar with.

There had been many tears.

Harry had shown up, but he kept his distance. He didn't even acknowledge Ron or Hermione, which had upset Hermione. After the funeral, she’d made an attempt to speak to him, but Harry had stood away from them, watched the funeral, and then left the moment it was finished. Many people hadn't even seen him arrive, but by the sad look Ginny had on her face after he'd gone, Ron knew she had. Ron placed an arm around her, offering her comfort in the best way he could.

Colin's funeral had been bad, but Ron knew that it wouldn't even come close to Fred's. Not for the Weasley family. It was due to begin at eleven o'clock, and the time seemed to go both fast and slow at the same time. Fast, because he didn’t want the moment to come, slow because he just wanted to get it over with.

Ron felt lost as he stared at himself in the small mirror in his room. He was wearing dress robes borrowed from Percy (who, with his former job, managed to buy multiple sets of nice ones), but it didn't feel like enough. Fred shouldn't have even been gone. No one should have. It simply didn't seem fair.

He was just contemplating changing when a shriek from the kitchen below drew Ron’s attention. A moment later, he heard his mother sobbing.

With a heavy sigh, Ron left his room and headed downstairs to see what had happened. It really was going to be a long day.

To his utter shock, Molly's tears were not from sadness, but from joy. Standing in the kitchen, tears streaming down his own face, was George. He allowed himself to be engulfed in his mother's arms, and the two stood there for ages, hugging and crying.

Ginny and Hermione, who were already dressed, stood nearby, tears in their own eyes as they watched the reunion with a mix of sadness and joy on their faces.

George was home. It had been his mother's most desperate desire, to have all the family back together. Till now, George had refused. Despite some attempts made by all of his brothers in the beginning, George had shut every single one of them out. He had kept his flat door sealed to any magic, and no one wished to use a charm strong enough to break the enchantments. So they had left him to grieve on his own.

Ron was pleased to see him, because he knew no one had been sure if he'd make it to the funeral at all.

Tears still falling from his eyes, George pulled away from his mother. He looked around. Everyone was in the kitchen watching, silent. And he hugged them all, one by one. Fleur and Hermione included.

Afterwards, there was some light talk, but mostly everyone remained silent. The funeral was to take place in the village below, protected from Muggle intruders by magic. It was where Fred had grown up, and it was where he was going to be buried.

They could have walked, but Ron doubted anyone had much energy for that, so they went to the nearest Apparition point just outside the boundaries of the Burrow. Ron watched everyone turn on the spot, disappearing into thin air. Ginny grabbed Arthur’s hand, and they, too, vanished.

Beside Ron, Hermione gripped his hand. "Ready?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He swallowed. Would he ever be ready? But he nodded, and he felt the gentle pull of her Disapparating them both down to the village. They landed within the confinements of the enchantments that had been placed there earlier.

Ron felt sick. So many people were there already; most he recognised, but some were strangers. He saw Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Neville was there…

He felt himself sway on the spot, the only thing stopping him from falling over was Hermione gripping his arm.

She'd said nothing to him for most of the morning; she didn't need to. Her presence told him enough: she was here for him, no matter what he needed.

All he needed was for this day to be over.

They walked forward, Hermione's hand still on his arm. They found two seats near the front, behind his parents. Bill and Fleur and George sat next to Ginny and Percy. Once seated, Hermione linked her fingers with his and they just sat in silence.

It didn't even occur to Ron to look for Harry until he heard Hermione's gasp. He looked up; Harry had slid into the vacant seat beside her without speaking. He reached across and patted Ron's knee.

Ginny stared, and he gave her a small smile. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

As Bill made his way to the stand, a piece of crumbled parchment in his hands, Ron realised that he had been wrong. Getting to the funeral had not been the hardest thing — listening to everyone speak was. Bill had volunteered on behalf of his devastated mother, Arthur said a few words, and Fred's friend Lee Jordan spoke on behalf of George.

Halfway through Bill's words, hot tears formed, silently sliding down Ron’s face. Once started, they wouldn't stop.

He could no longer see his brother standing up at the front; he was just a blur of shapes as Hermione's arms found him. They were warm and comforting as he buried his face against her shoulder and cried silently against her. His whole body shook, but she didn't let him go. She sat beside him, her arms gently caressing him in comfort, her own tears running down her cheeks.

His mother's loud sobs echoed throughout, while Bill's voice cracked a number of times while he ploughed on with his speech. Ron barely noticed any of it, lost now, to the despair that he'd been holding back for two weeks.

Fred was gone. His brother. How could his brother be gone? It just wasn't fair.

Eventually the funeral ended and Fred was buried in a cemetery filled with so many others. It almost felt as if he was too good to go there, with people who'd probably had a much less remarkable life.

Hermione stayed by Ron's side the whole time. Even after the tears stopped, and then came again, she didn't let him go. Not once. Not when Fred was buried; not when Ron couldn’t leave the cemetery long after most of the others had; not when Ron could only watch the headstone be placed on top of the freshly covered earth. Through everything, she stayed.

The sun was just beginning to set when he came to himself. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, watching the grave site, hoping for something that he knew wasn’t going to happen. It was just him and Hermione… and George.

Hermione finally let him go, her arm running soothingly along Ron’s arm as he made his way to his brother. George knelt by Fred’s grave, head bowed and tears streaming down his face. They hadn’t stopped since Ron had seen him that morning.

Looking back at Hermione, who smiled sympathetically, he knelt by George and together they stayed like that for who knew how long. Despite summer being very close, the evening air was still cool as the sun completely disappeared and the moon came out. It was a rare clear sky, and Ron liked to think it was Fred’s way of saying one final goodbye.

When his knees began to ache, and Hermione had long been gone, Ron spoke, his voice hoarse. “Let’s go home.” He dragged George to his feet by the arm. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

They returned to just outside the Burrow’s boundaries, walking silently through the night, over the hill, until the dim light from their family home flickered in the distance. Like Hermione had done for him throughout the day, Ron kept a hold of his brother, making sure he made every step, catching him if he stumbled.

When they reached the Burrow, they were greeted by a sullen silence. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen, some holding mugs of tea, others staring at something that wasn’t there. But George’s presence woke them. They all looked up, and Molly stood, running to him and throwing shaking arms around him.

Hermione walked timidly over to Ron. “How are you?” she asked.

Ron nodded. He couldn’t find the words to explain, but he was alive, he was coping… more than George, more than his mother. That was something.

His eyes scanned the room. “Harry…”

“He went back to Grimmauld Place,” she said softly. “But… Ginny went with him.”

It was then Ron realised that his sister was also missing. Without any reason, more tears sprang to his eyes. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting against his chest. His tears rolled down his face and onto the top of her head, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She only held him tighter, lifting her head and whispering so softly that even he struggled to hear her.

“I love you.”

Those words, as simple as they were, were enough to bring a smile to his lips, and a thought — as horrible as it made him feel to even think it — in that moment, standing in the kitchen with his family, he felt grateful that it wasn’t her funeral he had just come back from. A loss such as that might just have ended him.

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vegetalass · 4 years

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hcs of the gang being quarantined in one big house together maybe?? 🥺 lub ur writing

i lub u, anon!!🥺 sorry this took forever!

General

Oh my godddddddddd

They had to stop doing movie nights because there was too much fighting

They tried to set it up such that everyone got a turn to pick a movie but there were still complaints

Now, movies are viewed at random and the policy is that

1. The TV is first come first serve

2. You have to announce when you’re using it

3. Anyone is allowed to join you

This has stemmed into multiple people shouting “IM WATCHING _____” at random times

And yes, people will try to hide the remote (mostly Sean)

If they can find it, that is

The lines between public and private property have been blurred. Everything must be labeled or there is a chance someone will take it

You can risk it, but it’s not recommended since they’re all dudes and will most likely eat anything

And even with your name on a box of graham crackers, there’s still a chance someone will stick their hand it in and steal a few

All the dudes walk around in their Long Johns like it’s not awkward

They have to do their own laundry so everyone is missing socks

Or they have extras

And wet laundry is constantly being left on the ground if it’s unattended and someone needs the washer

Arthur

This dude double dips

He licks the spoon and puts it back in, too

Gets yelled at a lot for this, but never remembers to stop

Everybody is afraid to touch all of the dips now because of this

And Hosea has to start buying separate ones just for Arthur

He’s the one who takes 3 hour baths

I imagine that there’s multiple bathrooms in the house but not enough for everyone so there are definitely times when people are like “WTF, Arthur you’re still in there?” or “Where’s Arthur?”

Usually it’s Charles or John because they don’t mind sharing a bathroom with each other

Cue Arthur having accidentally fallen asleep in the tub

But yea he’s just chilling in there, otherwise

Started the quarantine off by trying to fix up the house… But immediately got lazy

There’s probably a number of things he keeps saying that he’ll “get to, eventually”

The only reason Dutch hasn’t called someone is because it’s a PANDEMIC

Technologically challenged

Barely knows how to turn on the TV and still uses an iPhone 5 that has pretty much stopped working

John has given up trying to explain how to make things fullscreen on YouTube

Because of this, probably spends most of his time wandering around the yard and reading or journaling

Tilly even bought him some scrapbooking supplies, which he’s been trying to use

Little washi tapes and highlighters because she knows it can’t get too complicated too fast

She also makes him an Instagram account so he can take photos or post art

But figuring out how it works is a losing battle, and he never remembers to use it, anyway

“I think we should get a pet”

Everyone: “Arthur... Do we look like we take care of ourselves?

If anyone tries to talk about how annoying the quarantine is, starts ranting about people who refuse to take it seriously

And the conversation ends up spiraling into him blaming capitalism for everything

John

Every other meal he eats is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Doritos

He does that thing where he wraps a bowl or plate in plastic wrap so he doesn’t have to wash it

Doesn’t clean up after himself

Leaves used tissues, slimy butter knives with PB on them, and crusty socks laying around

Unluckiest of them all

His snacks get taken the most, the bathroom is always occupied when he needs it, never gets to use the TV, his laundry is always moved, etc.

Always ends up using the bathroom when there’s no toilet paper

Texts Arthur for help and then makes an announcement in the group chat about “common courtesy”

Nobody replies

His texts are full of messages to Abigail that all say the same thing

“Help.” + “Please come get me” + “I hate it here”

They’re all left on read except for the occasional response asking if he needs anything from Target

The list he sends back is like four paragraphs long and it’s all dumb stuff

He’s like “FaceTime me when you get there, I wanna go shopping too”

Doesn’t even really want to leave the house for necessities, so he has to do stuff like water down his soaps or steal other people’s toiletries just to prolong how often he needs to go shopping for himself

He’s the one using Irish Spring from the dollar store mixed with water or a block of orange Dial soap that hasn’t been touched in five years

Charles tries to throw away an empty hand soap and John is like “THERE’S STILL SOAP IN THERE LOOK” *mixes water with it*

Steals razors and Shampoo

Thinks conditioner is “unnecessary” and “doesn’t do anything”

Complains about being bored but doesn’t bother to do the things people that people offer

Charles

Voluntarily becomes a recluse

Not because he wants to but because everyone else is too annoying to deal with

He’s forced to start using the internet and when he’s not on the computer he’s trying to block out the noise of the 8 other men he lives with just living

Going on walks is his other hobby

Also probably buys one of those adult coloring books to color

Like Athur, Charles hogs the bathroom

It’s not as bad as Arthur since he’s not in the tub for the whole time but he really will spend an hour getting ready in the morning for absolutely no reason

If anyone asks about it he just tells them that since they’re in quarantine there’s no reason to rush

But he does get yelled at if there’s no other bathrooms available

Becomes a self-care connoisseur

Walks around in a bathrobe and face mask just to try and achieve some sort of zen

Literally the only one who doesn’t walk around half naked

Besides Hosea, the one of the only guys who tries to wake up on time and eat three healthy meals a day

The house is entirely dark and he’s eating toast while Hosea makes coffee

It’s awkward, not because they’re weird about each other but because no one else is awake and it’s quiet for once

Dutch is the third person up and Charles leaves the kitchen by the time he’s around

Gave up trying to do the dishes and only cleans what he uses

Sometimes if he feels like being nice he’ll do Arthur’s dishes, too

But only if he gets something back in return, like Arthur doing his laundry or something

The only one who changes his bedsheets on the regular

Him and Kieran are the only ones trusted by Hosea to leave the house safely

Micah

Everyone is surprised Micah isn’t dead yet

Everyone is constantly fed up with him for something or for just being irritating

And try to ignore him for the most part, which is hard

Tries to defends himself with “Well, you don’t have to bother me if you don’t want to”

Doesn’t clean up after himself, either

John leaves more mess, but Micah does worse stuff

While John just leaves his dirty peanut butter knives around, Micah does stuff like forget to put the mayo back in the fridge, leave the bread bag out and open, forgets to bring his used dishes to the dishwasher, throws his trash in other people’s trash cans, leaves his wet laundry in the dryer, etc.

If it’s annoying and gross, he does it

And tries to eat food that other people have made for themselves or don’t want to share with him

Dutch is the only one who shares with him willingly

Does not pick up his hair from the bottom of the shower

And doesn’t clean the sink after he shaves

Honestly, I doubt any of the drains in the house work properly because so much shaving goes on

It’s honestly surprising to everyone that he takes the quarantine seriously

Accuses people of being sick even though all of them have barely left the house…

Wears a mask inside when he’s feeling salty

He doesn’t even care about the mask, it’s just to make people feel gross and bad about themselves

Besides Sean, he’s always trying to hog the TV

And everything he watches is annoying, pretentious, or both

Complains about there being “nothing to watch” despite always having something on and refusing to stop

Tries to smoke inside and literally always get busted for it

Even if other people are doing it too, he’s the one who doesn’t even bother to be by a window when he does it

His room is always off limits

If you need something from him you need to knock and wait in the doorway

Also does the “You’re too close… Step back, please” thing

And if anyone gets mad, says it’s a pandemic and he’s just trying to be SAFE

Mostly does this to feel powerful

Turns in to Uncle Jr. with all the complaining and berating he does

Uncle is honestly offended

Hosea

The only person allowed to do the shopping

He gave up trying to give people lists because the groceries they came back with were never right

Either too few, too many, not the right stuff... You name it

See here for more

That’s why, despite being the oldest, he’s the one who goes grocery shopping for meals twice a week

Refuses to buy alcohol because of incidents that they’ve had

Can’t stop people from sneaking it, though

Similar to Dutch in that he gets annoyed when people oversleep, but because its quarantine, he tries to not mention it, and at the worst, gets passive aggressive

Tries to make a chore chart for people to follow but it gets ignored

He ends up having to force people to do things by reminding them constantly

He’s the one who starts opening people’s doors in the morning and turning on the lights

Makes everybody start eating on paper plates with plastic silverware because he’s tired of trying to make people use the dishwasher

Arthur doesn’t know how, John doesn’t put his plates in the right place, Charles refuses to since no one else contributes to keeping it neat, Micah doesn’t even know they have one, Kieran also can’t fill it correctly...

Basically, it’s too much for Hosea to handle

His dinners are all Costco pre-made meals that can be made quickly

Frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad type stuff

He’s the guy who falls asleep on the couch sitting up while watching TV and if you try to talk to him he says “I’m awake” without opening his eyes

And if he’s using it, don’t even think about suggesting to change the channel

The answer is and always will be no

Even when he’s not really paying attention

And it’s either on the History Channel or Discovery Channel

Always complaining about how cold his feet are

Doesn’t let anyone touch the thermostat

He’s an in real life Elf on the Shelf

Dutch

If anyone, and I mean anyone starts sleeping in, he gets in a really pissy mood

“While I’m up, doing work for you, you’re sitting in bed being lazy!!!” and “What do you mean you don’t understand why! Why should I have to tell you why wasting the day is annoying to all those who are working!”

Even despite this, he can’t actually change the fact that no one wakes up on time

And it’s not like the work he’s doing for them is very important

He’s the one who thinks that a pandemic is the perfect time to be or do something useful

Eat healthy, write a book, pump iron… Anything

And when people complain about being useless he’s like “You have all this free time!!!1! Stop complaining!!! You can do anything!!!”

And if he’s doing something he considers useful, yells at people who try to bother him

Arthur: “Hosea wanted to know-”

Dutch: *doing sit ups* “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY?”

When it’s his turn to cook dinner, he’s making 8 boxes of Trader Joe’s mac and cheese in a huge pot and calling a meal

Literally the only meal no one complains about

He won’t clean the pot when it’s finished, though

Literally just cooks and leaves it out for someone else to deal with

Another self-care aficionado

Also walks around in a bathrobe and face mask

He’s worse than Charles though, because while Charles wears pants... Dutch will be booty ass naked under his

Also keeps trying to make homemade masks and scrubs and walks around in those, too

He’s like “This is a good one, I can tell already”

Everyone: “Dutch... is that... mayo... in your hair?”

Annoyingly good at monopoly

Does not invite Molly over and gets yelled at over FaceTime

Cue everyone eavesdropping on their arguments

Goes on power walks

Yells at people when they listen to loud music with swear words

Honestly, always yelling at people

“Can somebody get me my slippers? Arthur? John? Hosea? AnYoNe!!!”

Kieran

Spends the least time in the bathroom because he’s afraid of getting yelled at

Does everything in five minute increments

Except for showers, when he allows himself ten minutes

Barely

Most of what he eats is just microwave popcorn and shredded cheese

He’s the one asking people if they want to go on “family walks” with him

Literally no one joins him

Also tries to play board games with everyone

This goes a little better at least because Hosea will sometimes play and if he’s there, a few people will definitely join

Very bad at monopoly

The most conscious about wearing a mask

The others wear them but Kieran is the one who wears double masks, gloves, and carries around Febreeze

Also will get mad if anyone forgets their “safety equipment”

Or if they’re within six feet of him in public

Props to him though for staying healthy

I’ve mentioned this before, but... Spends most of his time playing games on a big tablet wearing headphones

Candy Crush and FarmVille and Words with Friends and stuff like that

Though all of his internet friends are weird old ladies he doesn’t know

Everyone is mad at him for sending non-stop game notifications, too

Hosea is the only one who responds to any of them

He’ll never admit this, though

Also tries to start doing arts and crafts

Mary-Beth started telling him about the various crafts she’s been doing, so he’s started trying to follow along, too

Things like crocheting or popsicle stick art

His stuff all looks bad, but he’s just happy to be doing it

And to be FaceTiming Mary-Beth

When he gets to choose a movie, he’s picking a “family-friendly” movie like Inside Out or Lilo and Stitch

Everyone starts out being mad but they all end up watching the whole thing without complaining

Heated debates ensue, too

For example, like about whether Flynn should’ve cut Repunzel’s hair in Tangled

“YOU’RE GONNA LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME THAT I’M WRONG?”

Charles + Arthur vs. Dutch + Bill

Makes meatloaf or Hamburger Helper like once a week

They’re basically the only thing he knows how to make

Sides with Arthur when he suggests getting a pet

Wears a Snuggie

Doesn’t change his socks

Javier

Plays his own music very loudly and won’t turn it off or down if you ask

Either that or he’s practicing guitar

It’s not really that bad but when you can’t escape it.... People get mad

The only saving grace is that the singing is usually in Spanish so it’s not as bothersome

The door to his room is always closed

Refuses to open it

To talk to him, you have to knock and then he’ll exit

Dutch is the only one allowed in and he thinks Javier’s rules about entering are creepy so never does it

Javier cooks his own food and won’t share

Only makes enough for exactly one person so even if he wanted to, there’s not enough

Eats dinner in his room to prevent people from bothering him or asking for some

However, he has the biggest stash of quarantine snacks…

No one knows where he gets them

And getting him to share is like trying to do a drug deal, but he’s not against it as long as he gets something in return

He didn’t personally cook all these snacks so the rules are different

His room is full of scented candles to make it smell better since the whole house kinda smells like Boy

Buys a gamer chair at the start of quarantine

Claims it’s more comfortable than the office chair that Dutch and Hosea chose for everyone

Everyone is jealous

Wears fuzzy pajama pants only

Sean

Sean is the one sleeping in

Never sleeps in his bed and just falls asleep wherever, basically

Usually the couch

Because he’s always snoozing, he’s the one who watches the most TV

Micah claims this isn’t “fair,” despite doing the same thing

And even if he’s not watching TV, he’s just using the couch to watch Tik Toks full volume

Tries to make his own Tik Toks, but they either stink or no one wants to participate

Constantly having people get mad at him for recording them

Stopped wearing clothes the moment quarantine started

Always in a tank top and his underpants

It’s kinda weird

People cared at first but by now they can’t be bothered to complain since they’re

1. Used to it

2. Probably start doing the same thing

Leaves his laundry laying around

Also won’t share anything he’s eating

Gets mad when people steal food

Doesn’t address anyone in particular though, just walks around yelling about how “nobody has the common decency not to steal”

Has food delivered almost every other day

No one knows where he’s getting the money from, either

Everyone think it’s a waste

Mostly because he doesn’t share, but also because all hell broke loose when Hosea found out about an expense called “delivery fees”

Also has a stick up his ass about wasting food

Started yelling about this randomly, too

If he can’t force someone else to finish leftovers, he forces himself to finish them

Probably gets caught watching a certain type of nasty video a lot

Lowkey it probably happens to everybody at least once

Yells at anti-maskers

Tries to wrestle the other boys and gets his ass handed to him

Bill

Possessive of everything

Usually he’s not this bad but being cooped up with a bunch of thieves and liars doesn’t make him confident that his Circus Animal cookies will last very long

Doesn’t share anything and very adamant about making sure there’s labels on things so nothing gets mixed up

Also makes his own space in the fridge with tape

BILL’S SPACE DO NOT TOUCH

And will start yelling in anything is moved

Not as bad as Sean though because he only cares about his own stuff

The whole thing is super hypocritical though, because he definitely steals other people’s stuff

If he gets caught, claims “it’s only fair”

Hosea has to buy him soap because he won’t buy it himself

Definitely the one who learns how to make prison hooch with cranberry juice and yeast

And the one who eats all of the ice cream

Even the nasty flavors

Wears the same clothes everyday because since he’s not working, “they’re not dirty”

They start getting holes in them, though

If anyone tries to suggest something for him to do, he gets mad and claims he “knows how to entertain himself”

Also constantly accusing people of being in his space or business

Ends up starting a ton of fights over this and then complaining about how mean everyone is to him

He’s not doing it on purpose, though

Ends up buying some kind of gaming console to pass the time

If he buys an Xbox, he shares with the rest of the boys

If he buys a nintendo switch, he starts playing Animal Crossing and doesn’t put it down for weeks

Out of everyone… He’s the one who takes the pandemic the least serious

He follows the rules because he doesn’t want to be eaten alive by any of the boys, but he probably thought the virus was a hoax at first

He learned his lesson the first time he tried to go out without a mask and got locked in the car, though

Forgets to flush the toilet

His room is dirty

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 headcanons #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 #arthur morgan #HOPE U ENJOY ANON SORRY IM SLOW #and will probs continue to be slow #my car broke down at mcdonalds today LOL and by the time it got fixed mcdonalds WAS FUCKING CLOSED #i was so sad my mom actually ended up taking me to a different one #but they didnt have what i wanted LOL #but it was fine bc i was happy with just fries #also y'all.... my sink is fixed and let me tell u #I AM NEVER PAYING FOR A PLUMBER AGAIN #i took that bitch apart and snaked it myself #and enough hair to make a wig came out of it but she was fixed #and i saved so much money my mom bought me lunch as a reward #LOL #anyways i love u all thanks for reading hope this shows up in the tags and u like it #i hope i put enough!!#and lmk if i should republish in a new format #i keep getting scared to make a new post and not answer anon directly #oH WELL JUST CATO PROBLEMS #also went back to work and it was... fine i guess #idk #Anonymous

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hysteriium · 4 years

Note

Ledger!Joker x JP!Joker headcanons 👀 ??

(Edit isn’t mine, made by Anarchy Graphics! They have really cool edits you should check them out!)

(A/n): 👀 HEY THERE DEAR ANON! Your wish is my command ;)) sorry I kinda added some smut hope that’s okie! HEHEH also @pennyship and I are writing a massive fucking one-shot about the duo! We’re thinking of turning this into a series if anyone’s interested?

Pairing: JP! Joker x reader x Heath!Joker

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, swearing.

////

Together

Okay first things first, they will have a hard time ‘sharing’ you. They’re both really assertive characters and their personalities would for sure clash.

They’re very competitive.

What’s probably even weirder is how they resolve their arguments. If you expect them to sit down and shake it out b o i you’re dead wrong.

Honestly, if you catch them in the middle of doing some stupid shit, don’t be surprised.

More often than not, you feel like the mediator between them. You kind of keep them balanced – stop them from going overboard, though admittedly, it’s rare when they reach such a point.

Their unspoken contest keeps them on their toes and that’s just how they like it.

They also really appreciate how you spare them the psychoanalysis – they get enough of it when they’re thrown into Arkham and treated like odd spectacles.

They’re really possessive/protective. If someone even so much as thinks of threatening you, or, even more idiotic, makes it known they ARE, best believe they’re bringing out the big guns. They’ll rain hellfire upon them. This is perhaps the only time where the dynamic duo can work together.

NSFW

A lot of the times they take their frustration out in other activities. If something doesn’t go as ‘planned,’ you’re gonna have a hard time walking tomorrow.

(Coming back to their ‘rivalry’), they’ll leave hickeys on your neck – VISIBLE ONES MIGHT I ADD – just so the other can see. This often leads to more hickeys from the other.

Threesomes. Sorry, not sorry. (Will go into detail in an upcoming fic hehe).

Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker

This. Man. Is. Touch-starved.

You heard me, folks. He loves touching you. This isn’t exclusive to sex either, honestly, he’s happy with even the smallest displays of affection.

He’s also much kinder than Heath’s Joker AND WHAT I MEAN BY THAT is that he’s more open with his affections (see Heath’s section for deetz).

Loves loves loves your smile and your laugh! Every time he snatches a laugh roused by one of his puns or jokes, he’s ecstatic! “You should laugh more,” “you have a pretty smile.” His compliments aren’t always worded the greatest, but you know he means well, his sincerity shining through.

Coupled with the soft smile which almost always follows your joy, it’s enough on its own to convey his thoughts.

The man is incredibly playful and is a relentless flirt. He doesn’t CARE who’s around, he will make it known what nasty things he’s thinking about AND what nasty things he wants to do to you. If it wasn’t for your own protests which are occasionally worn down, he’d take you in front of others. He literally does not care.

Example: when you least expect it, you’ll feel a firm slap against your ass, or sometimes less overt, a grab. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

To reiterate, he absolutely has no shame.

Arthur is big on aftercare. He’ll make sure you know how much he loves you. He gets really attached, and his actions communicate this more than his words. Aftercare manifests itself in many forms: cuddling, bubble baths, making sure he hasn’t harmed you in any way, offering sweets.

Nicknames

“Angel.”

“Darling.”

“Doll.” (Heath’s Joker also uses this).

“Sugar.” He often uses this when he’s mad, for example, “okay, listen, sugar.”

“Sweetheart.”

NSFW

Depending on how Arthur’s feeling, funky time can either be really rough or, if he’s feeling a lil extra sentimental, very you-oriented.

He’s a passionate man and seeing how his touch leads to your unravelling is truly one of the highlights for him.

Above all, Arthur’s favourite thing is hearing the way his name spills from your lips – feeling the way you cling onto him as he plunges into you. Your expression of euphoria’s something that’s etched into his brain, like fine glass.

An added bonus for him is thinking about how antsy your loud moans make Heath’s Joker.

Gunplay → Arthur’s slender fingers indent your thighs as he spreads them apart, a sudden metallic chill brushing up against the flesh. Prodding at your entrance with the barrel and slowly pushing in, his slow teasing thrusts morph into a steady pace when you’re practically pleading him to let you cum.

Orgasm Denial → Arthur, being the mischievous boi he is, will damn well make sure he drags everything out. He loves to hear you beg, every time you do it fills him with swirling bursts of pride.

Body worship → sort of ties in with orgasm denial. Arthur will take his sweet ass time caressing your skin, planting kisses against your stomach – against your hips. Honestly anywhere he has access to he will make it known how much he appreciates your body. This can sometimes appear during sex – he’ll slow his pace and utter sweet whispers of praise against you, rendering you even more of a flustered mess.

Hair pulling → works both ways. This would mainly be exhibited during oral than anything else. If he’s going down on you and your trembling fingers jerk his green curls, the vibrations of his moans would tip you over the edge.

He’s more flexible than Heath’s Joker, meaning if you want to top, he’ll let you do so, though he still maintains a cocky air. Giving you one of his killer smirks, his eyebrows flicking in amusement, he’ll relinquish his hold on your hips and recline back into the couch. The way he leans back and places his hands behind his head screams ‘go ahead,’ ‘impress me.’ You always do.

Heath Ledger’s Joker

Will do shit just to spite Arthur; this isn’t because he has a personal vendetta against him, it’s just because of the person he is (a little shit).

Takes a bit longer to open up than Arthur, emotionally. He’s very closed off and is used to his little bubble. It takes patience but eventually you’ll get there.

Acts like the biggest hardass → he likes to portray there’s nothing more to his image other than the ‘agent of chaos,’ but you come to realise this is definitely not the case.

In the dead of night, when he returns from whatever havoc he’s stirred, he crawls into your bed and pulls you against him, arms embracing you loosely.

This is when he’s at his most affectionate. His exhaustion most likely adds to those falling walls.

Most of the time he thinks you’re asleep when this occurs but, spoiler, you’re not; the gentle upturn of your lips the only indication of such. You don’t think you’d ever give the fact away either, fearful of him receding back into his shell to the point where affection is null. Either way, you’re happy with him.

By the morning, he’s gone, already making plans (or executing them).

He seldom shows you his actual face, behind all the makeup. In all honesty, you don’t know the reasoning behind this, and you don’t think you ever will. While he’s blunt, he’s just as secretive; there’s always something going on in the back of his mind.

Perhaps it’s insecurity, discomfort, or, more simply, the ‘persona’ of ‘Joker’ is just what resonates with him. The man underneath is someone he no longer identifies with. The man he’s become – who he’s worked so hard to manifest – is his true self.

NSFW

Okay but he’s a very sexual guy, not even gonna lie.

ALSO HAS NO EMBARRASSMENT. When it comes to sex, this man’s just as open about it as Arthur.

Hair pulling kink → this goes without saying. Unlike Arthur, this kink is one-sided, and he most definitely is the one doing the pulling. Those large hands will lose themselves within your strands and if you’re giving him head, he’s most likely going to guide you by said strands.

Glove kink → he’ll set you on his lap, your back against his chest as his hands hold your wriggling thighs. With your breath hitching in anticipation, one of his gloved hands will slip down your inner thigh, rubbing slow circles against your clit. He tries his best to be patient but lets be honest, he has a really short fuse when it comes to sex; he’ll be dipping one – two – and if he’s feeling particularly torturous – three fingers inside of you before you know it, curling his fingers.

Praise kink → not particularly what you’d expect. He’s also very big into humiliation and mockery, so this kind of ties in with the two. For example, if you do something he’s pleased with, he’ll throw around teasing/sarcastic nicknames like there’s no tomorrow:

“Bunny.”

“Buttercup.”

“Button.”

“Doll.”

“Good girl.”

“Princess.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Sweetheart.”

Loves your brattiness, literally lives for it. He’s always been drawn to a bit of fire – it keeps things interesting.

Has a thing for emotions – for your expressions, both micro and macro. The main three: fear, pain, pleasure.

He’s very erratic. So, when he is praising you, he may tug at your hair the next, choke you or, if he deems necessary, spank you.

Your squeaks of pain get him off – the motherfucker’s sadistic.

Goes through topdrop, and you’d most certain go through subdrop. He’s so used to control and regaining it when lost, in both an everyday context and a sexual one. So, once those feelings develop into something more (which you’ll have trouble differentiating, or sometimes picking up on at all), he’ll become more reserved, no longer displaying his usual vigour until this issue is sorted. (More details in a future drabble/fic).

#joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix #joker x reader #joker imagine #joker 2019 #the dark knight #both jokers #jp joker #heath joker #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #dc x reader #dc headcanon #Joker headcanons #joker headcannons #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader

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iplaymatchmaker · 3 years

Text

@nishtharya Thank you so much for requesting🥰🥰! I’m sorry for taking so long! I feel like I have to also apologize after all that angst in the prompt. I didn’t really mean to make it this sad but I couldn’t help myself 😅, especially considering I have written a beauty and the beast au fic in the past that was also very angsty. All the feels came rushing back. I hope you still enjoy it!❤❤

I match you with:

Arthur!

I had a few other guys in mind but I think Arthur would be the only one who could really give back so much while keeping things interesting.

The man has met women who graciously return his advances, but no one managed to play him like you. The look of surprise on his face when you beat him to his own games is extremely entertaining. It quickly becomes a competition of smoothness between the two of you.

After you grow more comfortable around him, both of you realize you have more in common than you think. Your conversations on the dinner table are quite the sight, since you both won’t stop talking until the subject has been completely drained.

When the two of you get into a relationship, it’s very hard for you to keep your hands off each other. He always finds himself reaching for you, whether that’s when he’s writing or when you’re out in town. Your presence around him becomes so natural he finds it hard to focus without you around for long stretches of time. He definitely tells you that a lot, especially when you’re apart for too long.

When he finds out you write and sing your own music he absolutely loves hearing your work. It provides a lot of inspiration for him and he feels very productive when listening to you, even if you’re simply talking. He often asks about your opinions on his latest Sherlock stories, especially after he reads some of your writing.

When you sleep together for the first time he notice how hard it was for you to fall asleep, so he takes it upon himself to help distract you. He’s found quite a few things that often work , although his favorite is definitely cuddling, and other things, but this a family friendly show.

Prompt 5: Fairytale AU:

“Arthur, open the door!” no matter how many times you yelled and knocked on the door of the large mansion, no answer came.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” You sat yourself on the steps, trying to appear calmer than you were. It was hard not to picture Arthur, alone and afraid, waiting for the inevitable.

“Where did we go wrong?” memories flashed through your mind as you traced your steps, trying to find any signs that this is where it would all lead.

You had been with Arthur for years and had known him for even longer. You tried to deny it, pointing at your own tendency to over analyze, but his deteriorating health became more and more apparent by the day. He tried his best to brush it off, usually teasing you about how much you worried about him, until one day he collapsed and remained unconscious for the next two days. No doctor could explain the cause of this. He had been perfectly healthy. No problematic past, no underlying health problems. But now he was dying and there was nothing anyone could do.

You looked back on happier days. You vividly remembered all the nights the two of you had spent sitting next to each other, working on your stories, often turning to the other for inspiration or a simple word of encouragement when your insecurities got the better of you. He always had a way with words, a way to make you feel special.

The images provided some comfort and you slowly drifted off, still waiting for your love to open up to you, like he did before.

When your eyes opened you were in a room you didn’t recognize. You were covered in a mountain of blankets and a hot piece of cloth lay on your forehead. When you sat up, you noticed Arthur, writing a few feet away.

“Arthur?” when he noticed you had woken up, he shot up, before tripping, landing back on the chair.

“Watch it.” You moved to get yourself out of bed but he stopped you, slowly lifting himself up, a pained expression on his face. Your heart ached for him as you watched him struggle trying to walk toward you. When he sat down next to you, some of the discomfort seemed to disappear. When he reached for your hand, a shiver run through you after the sudden contact with his ice cold skin.

“My love, you shouldn’t have come here. And you definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep outside on the brick of winter.” You could see the concern painted on his face as he looked at you. The moment brought you back to the times before all this.

“At least I got you to open the door.” You smiled, sitting up to reach toward him. He pulled away before you could get too close.

“You should’ve left like I told you… There’s nothing for you here anymore.” You glanced at the rose, sitting on the small table by the windowsill. Very few petals were left.

“There’s you.” This time he didn’t move when you reached for him, cupping his cheek.

“I won’t be here much longer.” You didn’t want to think about what life would be like without him by your side.

“There has to be a way to stop it! We still have some time, maybe we can undo this!” he placed a kiss on your forehead, a kiss that felt too much like a goodbye kiss.

“It’s over, love. My time’s up. It’s time I join Rick again. I wonder if he’ll forgive me for not saving him.” You remembered Rick. He was a small boy, barely ten years old when his brother came to Arthur, asking him to treat Rick, who was suffering from a raging fever. He had been the first patient Arthur hadn’t managed to save, one of the many lives he still carried with him, the guilt eventually becoming too much.

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t save everyone, you shouldn’t expect that of yourself.” you had worried about the weight being a doctor would put on him, but you had never expected it would be the thing that ended him.

“If I can’t save my patients… what kind of doctor am I?” no matter how hard you tried your words weren’t getting through to him and his time was running out.

“Love, please! Your guilt is what birthed this curse. It’s killing you! It’s in your hands to break it!” he had been cursed by his own mind for so long, growing weaker and weaker, until it manifested in the form of a rose, counting down his days. Tears slid rapidly down your eyes. He wiped them away, trying to take your pain along with them.

“I’ve always considered myself intuitive, but the mystery of my mind is one I’ll never be able to solve. But If I may, I want to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything.” You squeezed his hands, bringing him closer.

“It’s selfish of me. I’m the one who told you not to come here and yet here I am wishing you would stay by my side, until the end.” You nodded, tears blurring your eyes.

��I will, always.”

The next few hours felt like an eternity and like no time at all at the same time. There was so much you wanted to say but as you at next to him in front of the fire nothing came out. You could only watch as his life slowly faded away.

“Will you sing for me?” his eyes turned to you, a faint glint to them. You could tell he was struggling to focus, fighting to stay conscious, to spend his last moments with you.

Your voice filled the room, singing one of the songs you had written especially for him a few years ago. You tried to keep your voice steady, despite the situation.

As the minutes passed and the last petal begun to make its descend, his strength completely abandoned him.

“Ugh..” he collapsed, falling limp on the floor.

“Arthur!” you run to his side, holding him in your arms trying to keep him from slipping away.

“Please, sing…” his words were barely more than a whisper, a sign of his end fast approaching. In spite of it all, he was smiling.

You tried your best to keep your voice from melting into weeping. You wanted to see him off the way he wanted to.

When the last petal touched the ground, he stilled. And so you allowed yourself to cry, unable to stop, to move away, to leave him.

Suddenly, a bright light surrounded you, lighting up the room, bringing warmth back to the empty space. When the light faded, Arthur’s eyes opened.

“Arthur!” you pulled him closer, so close, making sure you weren’t dreaming. He was alive, breathing and warm as ever.

“You’re alive! But how?” he laughed pulling you closer.

“Not happy to see me again?” it was such a relief to see him smiling again.

“Shut up.” You pressed you lips on his, feeling him next to you, just like before.

“I thought I was going to die. My life flashed before my eyes, but when I felt myself slip away, I heard your voice…” tears begun to form in your eyes again, the amount of information making it hard to focus.

“I… I followed your voice… I followed you and It felt like home.” Tears streamed down his face, his body still shaking from the adrenaline. “I guess I’m too much of a coward to die. Not even a self inflicted curse could keep me away from you.” You laughed, unable to contain your happiness. He followed suit, your happiness filling the once gloomy room, bringing you closer than ever before.

“It seems that I’m not going anywhere any time soon.

“You better not! I am still waiting to see the end of your latest story!”

“I would never leave my love hanging like that.” Everything in that moment felt right, preparing you for many more happy memories in your future, with him by your side.

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